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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


The  Mate  of  the  Daylight 


AND   FRIENDS  ASHORE 


BY 

SARAH   ORNE   JEWETT 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

ftfje  BtberstUe  Press,  Camforftge 

1884 


Copyright,  1883, 
BY  SARAH  ORNE  JEWETT. 

£11  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotypecl  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Uoughton  &  Co 


•vn 


To 

A.  F. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT 1 

A  LANDLESS  FARMER        ......  34 

A  NEW  PARISHIONER    .......  94 

AN  ONLY  SON     ........  148 

Miss  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS    .  190 

TOM'S  HUSBAND          .......  210 

THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER    .        .        .  234 

A  LITTLE  TRAVELER         ,.»...  244 


THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 


THREE  ancient  seafaring  men  were  sitting  together 
in  the  doorway  of  a  building  that  looked  as  if  it  might 
once  have  been  the  warehouse  of  a  fisherman,  but 
was  now  entirely  out  of  repair,  even  for  a  fish-house. 
A  short,  thin  old  fellow,  who  looked  more  active  than 
the  rest,  was  perched  on  the  top  of  a  shaky  barrel, 
swinging  his  feet ;  but  his  two  companions,  mindful, 
perhaps,  of  their  rheumatic  joints,  were  enthroned 
on  bait-tubs.  Out-doors  it  was  almost  raining,  the 
Scotch  mist  was  coming  in  so  thick  from  sea ;  and  the 
men  were  taking  all  the  comfort  they  could  in  smok 
ing  such  strong  black  tobacco,  in  dingy  clay  pipes 
with  no  stem  to  speak  of,  that  the  spiders  overhead 
thought  it  might  be  best  to  go  out  from,  their  shelter, 
and  brave  the  inclemency  of  the  weather. 

"  I  don't  see  no  prospect  of  a  change,"  said  Cap 
tain  Joseph  Ryder,  the  man  on  the  barrel.  "  The 
wind  backed  in  yisterday,  and  the  clouds  has  been 
a-looking  greasy  for  a  week  past.  I  told  Dan'l, 
1 


2  THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

yisterday,  he  was  a  blamed  fool  to  go  out ;  but  young 
fellers,  they  do  set  an  awful  sight  by  their  own  opin 
ion." 

"  What  was  he  a-saying  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  other 
men,  leaning  toward  his  companion,  and  putting  his 
hand  to  his  ear.  He  looked  very  cross,  but  he  was 
really  good-natured ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  thought  he 
ought  to  wear  a  look  of  disapproval  at  the  behavior 
of  men  in  general.  His  clothes  were  made  of  thick, 
stiff  cloth,  and  his  very  skin  was  so  seasoned  by  long 
exposure  to  the  weather  that  it  looked  like  the  hide 
of  a  very  f air-complexion ed  alligator,  or  of  some 
other  creature  that  is  covered  with  most  durable  ma 
terial. 

Captain  Joseph  Ryder's  remarks  were  reported 
with  some  accuracy  to  Captain  Jabez  Ryder,  and  he 
nodded  his  head  once  or  twice  in  approval.  "  That 
was  all  you  obsarved,  wa'n't  it?"  he  asked  in  a 
grumbling,  rusty  voice,  as  if  he  thought  his  friend 
might  have  defrauded  him  in  the  repetition.  "  Well, 
young  folks  is  fools,  so  they  is.  It  ain't  what  I 
call  good  seamanship,  and  I  like  to  see  good  sea 
manship  aboard  of  a  dory  as  well  as  aboard  of  a  nine- 
hunderd-ton  East  Indiaman,  so  I  do.  Ef  a  man  's  good 
for  anything  whatever  aboard  a  vessel,  he  can  turn  his 
hand  to  one  as  well  as  another.  In  my  day  young 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  3 

folks  used  to  have  ambition  about  'em  to  rise ;  but 
some  o'  these  fellers  goes  out  to  the  fishing  year  in 
and  year  out,  and  never  leaves  off  no  better  than  they 
begun,  so  they  don't." 

"  Times  ain't  what  they  used  to  be,"  mourned  Cap 
tain  Peter ;  and  as  old  Jabez  looked  at  him  inquir- 
ingty,  he  repeated  his  remark  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
which  was  somewhat  feeble  at  best. 

"  No  more  they  ain't,"  said  Jabez,  with  satisfaction, 
and  they  all  puffed  silently  at  their  pipes.  They 
were  like  some  worn  old  driftwood  at  the  harbor- 
side,  and  they  bore  a  queer  family  likeness  to  the 
worm-eaten  pieces  of  ship  timber  and  the  small  rusty 
anchor  with  a  broken  fluke  which  were  stored  away 
near  them. 

The  fish-house  fronted  on  a  narrow  alley-way, 
which  led  from  the  main  street  of  the  town  down  to 
a  wharf.  It  was  standing  a  little  askew,  having  been 
built  at  a  time  when  perfectly  straight  streets  were 
not  thought  necessary.  In  fact,  the  whole  town  had 
a  strange,  disorderly  look,  as  if  its  buildings  had  been 
brought  all  at  once  and- set  down  wherever  there  was 
room,  but  the  inhabitants  had  never  thought  it  worth 
while  to  take  the  trouble  to  arrange  them  better.  It 
gave  one  a  feeling  of  gratitude  that  some  of  the  little 
houses  had  not  been  carelessly  dumped  on  their  sides. 


4  THE  MATE   OF   THE  DAYLIGHT. 

or  upside  down,  which  would  have  made  house-keep 
ing  in  them  even  more  inconvenient  than  it  was.  As 
one  went  along  the  streets,  some  of  the  buildings 
stood  cornerwise,  and  some  had  their  back  doors 
where  the  front  should  have  been  ;  the  whole  little 
town  was  like  a  company  of  soldiers  which  had 
broken  ranks,  and  it  was  altogether  picturesque  and 
charming,  with  its  unexpected  lilac  bushes  and  bits 
of  garden,  and  its  windowed  roofs  and  narrow,  cobble- 
stoned  streets. 

Opposite  the  fish-house  was  the  gray  and  lichen ed, 
rough-shingled  wall  of  a  deserted  warehouse,  and  as 
the  three  captains  sat  looking  solemnly  at  this,  and 
past  the  corner  of  it  toward  the  water,  there  suddenly 
appeared  the  figure  of  a  young  girl  against  the  dull 
background.  She  had  been  walking  fast,  and  her 
face  was  flushed  with  the  damp  fog  and  her  eager 
ness.  "I  've  been  hunting  all  round  for  you,  grand 
father,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  you  forgot  about  that 
fish  for  the  chowder  ?  Aunt  Melinda  said  I  had  bet 
ter  come  right  out  and  look  you  up,  else  we  should 
n't  get  much  of  a  dinner  to-day." 

Captain  Ryder  looked  very  sorry  for  this  omission, 
and  got  down  quickly  from  his  barrel,  while  Captain 
Jabez  put  his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  demanded  an  ex 
planation  of  the  sudden  summons.  He  was  a  little 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  5 

disappointed  at  finding  it  was  only  that  bis  crony  had 
forgotten  to  buy  a  fish  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  an 
unexpected  guest  must  have  arrived,  or  that  some 
one  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  or  had  died,  for  Susan 
was  in  such  a  hurry.  But  if  he  had  stopped  to  think 
he  might  have  been  sufficiently  surprised  :  it  was  sel 
dom  that  a  retired  shipmaster  in  that  port  forgot  to 
order  his  dinner ;  it  was  too  often  the  only  real  busi 
ness  which  interfered  with  his  idleness  all  day  long. 

"  Cap'n  Joe,"  as  his  friends  called  him,  hurried  off 
by  the  way  of  the  wharves,  apologizing  to  himself 
as  he  went ;  but  Susan  lingered  behind  a  moment. 
"  Do  you  know  whether  Dan  Lewis  is  out  or  not  to 
day  ?  "  she  asked  Captain  Downs  softly,  as  if  afraid 
of  being  overheard  by  her  retreating  grandfather; 
and  she  was  answered  that  the  fishing-smack  had 
gone  out,  in  spite  of  repeated  warnings,  late  the  night 
before. 

"  I  'm  afraid  Dan'l  will  get  hisself  into  mischief," 
the  old  sailor  said,  while  Susan's  cheeks  grew  brighter 
than  ever,  and  old  Captain  Jabez  looked  curiously 
from  one  face  to  the  other,  and  was  fairly  shaking 
with  impatience.  Susan  had  nothing  more  to  say, 
but  turned  quickly,  as  if  much  disturbed,  and  went 
away,  slipping  a  little  on  the  wet  round  stones  of  the 
paving  ;  and  when  she  had  turned  the  corner  from 


6  THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

the  alley- way  into  the  main  street,  she  walked  as  fas* 
as  she  could  toward  home.  When  she  reached  the 
house  she  shut  the  door  so  angrily  that  the  old  brass> 
knocker  clacked,  and  the  hanging-lamp,  which  the 
captain  had  brought  in  his  young  days  from  over 
seas,  rattled  its  chains  and  jarred  and  jingled.  It 
was  not  the  custom  of  the  family  to  come  in  at  the 
front  door,  and  Miss  Melinda  Downs  appeared  sud 
denly  at  the  head  of  the  crooked  little  staircase  to 
see  what  the  matter  was.  She  was  not  dressed  for 
visitors,  and  she  looked  relieved  when  she  found  it 
was  her  niece.  "  I  was  afraid  you  was  an  agent  or 
somebody,"  she  said.  "  Did  you  find  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  said  Susan,  who  was  very  much  ex 
cited  ;  her  eyes  were  shining,  and  she  looked  as  if 
she  could  hardly  keep  from  crying.  "  And  what 's 
more,  I  found  that  Dan  has  gone  off  fishing,  just  as  I 
supposed  he  would ;  and  Heaven  knows  if  anybody 
will  ever  see  him  again  !  Just  like  him,  and  of 
course  he  found  plenty  of  fools  ready  to  go  with  him. 
There  's  an  awful  storm  coming,  and  the  schooner 
was  n't  half  ready  for  sea  ;  he  told  me  so  last  night, 
and  they  sailed  before  morning." 

"They  can't  have  got  far,"  said  Miss  Melinda, 
not  without  some  anxiety.  "  I  guess  you  'd  find  they 
was  laying  off  here  in  the  harbor,  if  the  fog  lifted. 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  7 

There  ain't  been  a  breath  of  wind  all  the  morning ; 
it 's  dreadful  close.  I  dare  say  they  '11  put  into  some 
other  port  to  fit  themselves  out,  if  it 's  so  they  don't 
come  right  in  here  again.  Just  like  Dan's  nonsense, 
all  fire  and  tow !  I  s'pose  he  thought  't  would  sound 
smart.  I  hope  he  split  up  a  few  kindlin's  for  his 
poor,  feeble  old  mother  before  he  went.  I  see  her, 
when  I  come  by  yisterday,  hacking  away  in  the 
wood-house  with  a  dull  axe.  I  should  think  he  'd  be 
ashamed  to  go  strutting  round  the  way  he  does. 
Father  went  right  off  to  see  about  the  fish,  I  s'pose? 
I  don't  know  what  time  he'll  get  his  dinner.  I  never 
knew  him  to  forgit  before,"  she  added,  prudently 
trying  to  change  the  subject,  for  she  saw  how  Susan's 
eyes  flashed. 

"  I  guess  they  ain't  laying  off  in  the  harbor,"  re 
joined  the  younger  woman,  stamping  her  foot  with 
rage.  "  It 's  a  mercy  if  they  ain't  gone  to  pieces  on 
the  rocks,  before  now.  It  blew  dreadful  hard  along 
towards  morning.  And  I  '11  just  tell  you  one  thing  : 
I  don't  blame  Dan  Lewis  one  mite  for  being  mad, 
and  I  ain't  going  to  live  here  no  longer,  like  a  toad 
under  a  harrow.  I  'm  just  going  to  do  as  I  'm  a 
mind  to,  quick  's  ever  I  'm  out  of  my  time  ;  and  I  'm 
going  to  marry  Dan  Lewis,  whether  anybody  says  I 
can  or  not.  No  fellow  would  stand  what  was  said  to 
him  last  night." 


8  THE  MATE   OF   THE  DAYLIGHT. 

"There,  there,"  said  aunt  Melinda,  soothingly; 
"  don't  get  so  worked  up,  Susan.  Your  gran'ther 
means  to  do  well  by  you  ;  I  'm  sure  he  always  has, 
arid  he  's  all  for  your  good.  His  bark  's  worse  than 
his  bite,  you  know  's  well  as  I  do." 

"Nobody  wants  to  hear  him  bark  as  I  know  on," 
said  Susan,  scornfully  ;  and  Melinda  escaped  with  the 
excuse  of  the  captain's  coming  in  at  the  kitchen  door, 
fish  in  hand. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  whispered  the  elder  woman,  to 
her  father,  who  had  an  anxious  look,  as  if  he  half 
expected  a  battle.  She  's  dreadful  worked  up  about 
Dan's  going  off.  but  she  '11  get  over  it  if  you  don't 
say  nothing  to  set  her  going." 

Nothing  was  farther  from  the  captain's  mind  than 
to  wish  for  an  encounter  with  Susan.  She  did  not 
meet  him  until  dinner  was  ready,  when  she  came 
down  to  take  her  seat  at  the  table  like  a  sulky  and 
displeased  guest.  She  always  helped  to  get  dinner, 
and  that  day  she  had  told  herself  several  times,  dur 
ing  the  hour  that  she  spent  in  her  own  room,  that 
she  would  not  go  down  to  share  the  noonday  meal ; 
but  the  chowder's  savory  odor  was  wafted  up  the 
stairs,  and  proved  irresistible,  for  she  was  a  young 
person  of  good  appetite,  and  she  was,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  hungrier  than  usual.  The  captain 


THE  MATE   OF   THE  DAYLIGHT.  9 

made  awkward  attempts  at  keeping  up  a  brisk  and 
unconscious  talk,  but  Susan's  expression  was  that  of 
grim  stolidity.  She  made  herself  look  very  ugly 
when  it  pleased  her  to  feel  so ;  she  was  at  other  times 
a  pretty  girl,  with  a  fine  color,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  and  bright  black  eyes,  that  took  quick,  sharp 
glances  at  the  world.  She  was  generally  good-hu 
mored  and  merry,  but  when  a  cloud  went  over  her 
sky  it  was  very  bad  weather  indeed.  After  dinner 
Captain  Ryder  went  to  sleep  in  his  chair,  as  usual, 
and  his  injured  granddaughter  helped  clear  away  the 
table  and  wiped  the  dishes,  as  if  it  ought  not  to  have 
been  expected  of  her  under  the  circumstances.  Then 
she  withdrew  again  to  her  bedroom,  and  her  aunt  Me- 
linda,  who  never  took  afternoon  naps,  after  a  suitable 
interval  put  on  her  second-best  bonnet  and  shawl,  and 
went  out,  closing  the  door  gently  after  her.  The 
house  was  still,  and  the  captain  slept  later  than 
usual.  When  he  waked  it  was  half-past  three,  and 
he  had  promised  to  be  on  one  of  the  tumble-down 
wharves  at  three,  to  measure  some  firewood.  His 
neck  was  stiff,  and  he  had  an  uneasy  sense  of  guilt 
as  he  wondered  what  had  become  of  the  women 
folks,  and  especially  of  Susan. 

After  Susan  had  left  the  fish-house,  that  morning, 


10  THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

the  two  captains  had  waited  for  a  few  minutes,  to  be 
sure  she  was  out  of  hearing,  and  then  Captain  Jabez 
had  edged  his  overturned  bait-tub  as  close  as  possible 
to  his  companion's,  and  asked  to  hear  what  had  been 
said.  "  I  guess  they  must  ha'  had  some  trouble 
amongst  'em  last  night,"  he  said,  not  without  con 
tempt.  "  I  seen  him  a-settin'  by  the  fore-room  win 
dow,  as  I  was  a-passin'  by,  near  about  eight  o'clock, 
if  I  don't  disremember.  Cap'n  Joe,  he  was  out  some 
where  ;  likely  he  went  over  to  inquire  for  Mis'  Cap'n 
Stark.  I  met  him  a-goin'  home,  and  it  may  be  he 
turned  Dan'l  out  o'  the  house,  and  he  's  made  off.  I 
could  n't  get  no  sight  at  what  drove  him  out  to  sea 
this  miser'ble  weather.  And  did  n't  it  bear  on  your 
mind  that  Cap'n  Joe  was  some  out  o'  sperits  ?  Acted 
like  he  'd  lost  his  reck'nin',  so  he  did  !  " 

"  He  wa'n't  out  o'  sperits  's  I  know  on,"  said  Cap 
tain  Peter.  "  I  see  him  coming  out  o'  Tarbell's  shop 
just  afore  ten,  and  I  guess  he  had  his  nipper  aboard. 
'T  ain't  often  he  forgits  it ;  but  I  did  think  he  was 
airlier  than  common  to-day.  P'raps  he  'd  mistook 
the  hour,  but  most  like  he  wanted  it  to  stay  him." 

"  'T  ain't  never  well  to  change  hours,  so  it  ain't," 
said  Captain-  Jabez,  after  some  reflection.  "And  ten  's 
too  airly  ;  you  lose  all  the  good  on  't  by  dinner  time. 
I  don't  blame  Joe ;  he  's  been  a  saving  man,  and  it 


THE  MATE  OF   THE  DAYLIGHT.  11 

ain't  bis  natur'  to  want  Dan  Lewis  to  make  ducks 
and  drakes  of  his  property.  I  suppose  he  must  have 
as  much  as  nine  or  ten  thousand,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  He  's  got  that,  sure,"  acknowledged  Captain 
Downs.  But  they  had  too  often  settled  the  amount 
of  money  which  belonged  to  every  man  of  their  ac 
quaintance  to  make  the  subject  an  absorbing  one,  if 
there  were  any  other  at  hand.  "  Dan  Lewis  is  a 
high-strung  fellow,  and  I  never  set  no  great  by  him," 
he  went  on  ;  "  but  young  folks  will  have  their  way, 
and  old  folks  has  to  stand  back.  I  should  ha' 
thought  Susan  would  ha'  looked  higher.  Dan  ain't 
got  nothing  to  look  to  from  his  folks  ;  it 's  been  all 
his  mother  could  do  to  scratch  along ;  and  to  be  sure, 
he  's  got  the  berth  o'  second  mate  o'  the  Daylight, 
but  with  the  plight  navigation  's  in  now  it 's  lucky 
if  she  goes  out  o'  her  dock  for  a  year  to  come.  His 
uncle  only  give  him  the  place  because  poor  old  Mis' 
Lewis  beseeched  him  so.  Dan  's  lazy  as  a  flounder, 
naterally.  He  never  'd  'a'  undertook  to  carry  on  fish 
ing  if  he  had  n't  wanted  to  stand  well  in  Cap'n  Joe's 
books.  Susan's  distressed  to  get  him,  ain't  she,  's  if 
he  was  an  East  Indiaman  loaded  to  the  water's  edge  ? 
Talk  about  love !  I  should  think  a  gal  like  her 
would  have  sense  enough  to  look  ahead  and  provide 
for  herself  accordin'  to.  All  the  Ryder  girls,  her 


12  THE  MATE  OF    THE  DAYLIGHT. 

father's  sisters,  married  cap'ns,  and  I  sh'd  think  she'd 
have  some  ambition.  But  I  s'pose  she 's  lookin' 
for'ard  to  having  means  enough  o'  her  own,  when 
Joe  's  done  with  it.  I  'd  like  to  see  who  '11  beat, 
though,  her  or  Joe !  They  ain't  neither  one  on  'em 
liable  to  change  their  minds.  Susan  's  a  reg'lar  chip 
o'  the  old  block." 

Captain  Jabez  was  having  an  unusually  pleasant 
morning.  He  could  hear  the  voice  of  this  friend 
easily,  and  Captain  Peter  Downs  was  a  good-na 
tured,  sociable  old  fellow,  who  was  willing  to  gossip 
with  this  deafest  and  dullest  of  his  neighbors  rather 
than  not  gossip  at  all.  Captain  Jabez  had  heard  this 
long  discourse  with  great  satisfaction.  He  did  not 
often  find  people  willing  to  tell  him  secrets  ;  but 
there  was  a  good  opportunity  in  that  secluded  spot, 
and  voices  could  be  raised  to  shouting  pitch,  and 
subjects  discussed  without  fear  of  outside  listeners. 

u  I  s'pose  she  's  got  the  right  to  suit  herself  ;  she  's 
the  one  that 's  going  to  marry  the  fellow,"  said  Cap 
tain  Downs,  in  conclusion. 

But  this  sentiment  did  not  find  favor  with  Captain 
Jabez,  who  prided  himself  on  nothing  more  than  his 
experience  of  life  and  his  knowledge  of  human  na 
ture.  "I  don't  agree  with  ye,  so  I  don't,"  he  re 
marked,  looking  at  a  great  silver  watch,  and  making 


THE  MATE   OF   THE  DAYLIGHT.  13 

ready  to  start  for  home.  "  Whoever  a  gal  picks  out, 
all  her  folks  has  to  marry  him  as  much  as  she  does  ; 
and  a  gal  ought  to  consider  whether  her  folks  wants 
to  take  a  man  in  for  better  and  worse  as  a  relation. 
You  're  a  sight  more  beholden  to  relations  by  mar 
riage  than  you  be  to  your  own  folks." 

u  I  do'  know  but  what  you  're  right,"  meekly  ob 
served  Captain  Downs,  and  the  two  old  salts  went 
stiffly  away  together  in  search  of  their  dinners. 

It  happened  that  the  story,  in  some  mysterious 
way,  found  wings  and  flew  about  town  that  Captain 
Joe  Ryder  and  Dan  Lewis  had  had  some  hard  words, 
and  Susan's  frame  of  mind  was  indescribable  in  con 
sequence.  Captain  Jabez's  wife,  a  person  of  great 
activity,  met  him  at  the  door  at  noon  with  the  news, 
and  was  very  pleased  to  find  that  he  had  seen  both 
Susan  and  her  grandfather,  and  was  wiser  in  the 
matter  than  she.  He  had  often  failed  in  his  duty  of 
bringing  home  the  news  since  he  had  grown  deplor 
ably  deaf.  Mrs.  Ryder  treated  him  with  unusual  at 
tention  ;  she  even  delayed  dinner  a  little,  while  she 
made  a  pudding-sauce  of  which  her  partner  for  life 
was  very  fond,  and  which  he  usually  had  served  him 
only  when  there  was  company.  "  I  do'  know  but  if 
you  feel  like  it  we  '11  go  round  to  Joseph's  to-night, 


14  THE  MATE   OF  THE   DAYLIGHT. 

after  supper,"  she  ventured,  when  dinner  was  nearly 
over,  and  the  captain  was  unmistakably  serene. 
"  He  's  all  the  cousin  you  've  got,  and  we  ain't  been 
there  of  an  evening  all  through  the  summer.  I  Ve 
got  some  things  I  want  to  consult  Melindy  about, 
and  like  's  not  they  '11  be  glad  to  have  us  drop  in  if 
they  ain't  feelin'  comfortable  among  themselves." 

Captain  Jabez  was  usually  much  averse  to  paying 
ceremonious  visits.  He  was  some  years  older  than 
his  wife,  and  he  was  generally  unable  to  join  in  the 
conversation  to  any  satisfactory  extent ;  he  liked  to 
smoke  his  pipe  and  read  the  newspaper  in  peace  at 
home.  But  he  consented  to  this  plan  with  unwonted 
willingness,  though  he  felt  that  he  must  grumble  at  it 
a  little  at  first.  "  I  can't  go  to  work  a-rigging  up  just 
as  I  'm  getting  off  to  bed,"  he  growled  mildly.  But 
his  wife  took  a  good  look  at  him,  and  said  that  she 
did  n't  know  as  there  would  be  any  need  of  his  put 
ting  on  a  clean  shirt ;  it  was  n't  as  if  it  was  daytime. 
Besides,  it  was  different,  just  dropping  in  to  see  your 
own  folks ;  she  should  n't  like  to  appear  as  if  they 
made  much  of  it. 

So  after  Mrs.  Ryder  had  stowed  away  the  tea 
things,  and  had  brought  the  captain  his  coat  and 
helped  him  into  it,  they  started  out.  It  was  very 
late  in  the  summer,  and  the  evenings  were  growing 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  15 

long  ;  the  fog  was  coming  in  thicker  than  ever  from 
sea,  and  it  was  already  dark.  The  captain,  whose 
eyes  were  not  much  better  than  his  ears,  always  re 
fused  to  go  forth  after  night-fall  without  his  lantern. 
The  old  couple  steered  slowly  down  the  uneven  side 
walk  toward  their  cousin's  house.  The  captain  walked 
with  a  solemn  rolling  gait,  learned  in  his  many  long 
years  at  sea,  and  his  wife,  who  was  also  short  and 
stout,  had  caught  the  habit  from  him.  If  they  kept 
step,  all  went  well ;  but  on  this  occasion,  as  some 
times  happened,  they  did  not  take  the  first  step  out 
into  the  world  together,  so  they  swayed  apart,  and 
then  bumped  against  each  other,  as  they  went  along. 
To  see  the  lantern  coming  through  the  mist,  you 
might  have  thought  it  the  light  of  a  small  craft  at 
sea  in  heavy  weather. 

"  I  'm  most  sorry  we  come  out,  it  's  such  a  bad 
night,  and  your  rheumatism,  too  ! "  said  Mrs.  Ryder 
regretfully  in  the  captain's  best  ear,  which  luckily 
happened  to  be  next  her.  And  the  captain  rejoined 
that  anybody  would  think  they  must  be  put  to  it ; 
but  it  was  none  o'  his  doing. 

"  I  '11  say  to  Joseph  that  I  want  to  look  over  some 
papers  that  he  keeps,  and  him  and  me  's  concerned 
in  ;  that  '11  explain  it,  and  they  won't  think  we  come 
a-spyin'  round." 


16  THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

Mrs.  Ryder's  heart  had  begun  to  fail  her  ;  she 
would  have  turned  toward  home  again  just  before  this, 
if  she  could  have  mustered  courage.  She  thought  it 
was  very  handsome  of  the  captain,  and  said  to  her 
self  that  she  would  not  forget  it- 

Miss  Melinda  Ryder  and  the  old  captain,  her  fa 
ther,  had  passed  a  very  dull  day,  and  the  evening  had 
closed  in  with  uncommon  gloom.  Susan  had  main 
tained  a  dignified  silence  at  supper  time,  and  had  re 
turned  to  her  room  afterward,  and  shut  its  door  in 
such  a  manner  that  it  was  plain  to  see  that  she  had 
not  forgiven  the  sins  of  her  family  against  her.  For 
some  reason  or  other  the  captain  had  failed  to  receive 
his  evening  paper,  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  look 
at  the  small,  unwilling  fire  which  his  daughter  had 
lighted  in  the  Franklin  stove  in  the  dining-room,  the 
evening  being  chilly.  She  had  forgotten  herself,  and 
before  she  stopped  to  think  had  lighted  the  sticks 
that  topped  the  careful  structure  made  ready  for  the 
fire.  They  were  nice  looking  round  sticks  of  white 
birch,  and  she  regretted  their  loss  very  much.  She 
was  much  attached  to  them,  beside  ;  she  had  taken 
them  off  and  laid  them  by  a  great  many  times.  Every 
thing  seemed  to  be  awry,  and  neither  she  nor  the 
captain  would  have  grieved  if  they  had  been  sure 
that  Dan  Lewis  had  taken  himself  off  with  the  de 
termination  never  to  darken  their  doors  a^ain. 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  17 

The  knock  at  the  door  which  they  heard  presently 
was  most  startling,  and  they  could  have  confessed 
that  they  were  afraid  that  the  young  man  had  come 
back  and  meant  to  "  have  it  out,"  and  decide  his  right 
to  Susan.  The  guests,  however,  did  not  wait  for 
an  answer  to  their  summons  with  the  knocker,  but 
opened  the  door  at  once,  and  were  pleased  with  the 
look  of  delight  and  relief  on  the  faces  of  their  host 
and  hostess. 

"  Step  up  and  spenk  to  Susan,  will  you  ?  "  said 
Captain  Joe  to  his  daughter.  "  Tell  her  who  's  here." 
Melinda  obeyed,  with  much  fear  and  trembling.  Su 
san  had  forgotten  to  take  a  light  up-stairs  with  her. 
She  was  not  at  all  sleepy,  and  she  was  very  tired,  to 
tell  the  truth,  of  sitting  in  the  dark.  Her  manner 
had  a  little  loftiness,  but  she  was  very  gracious,  and 
the  rest  of  the  company  took  heart  and  were  cheer 
ful.  Captain  Jabez  explained  the  object  of  his  visit 
to  his  cousin,  and  the  papers  were  at  once  brought 
out  from  a  hiding-place  in  the  old  secretary  in  the 
dining-room,  which  stood  in  the  stead  of  an  office  and 
counting-room  to  Captain  Joe.  He  was  ship's  hus 
band  to  a  small  craft  in  which  the  cousins  were  part 
owners.  They  talked  for  some  time  over  the  affairs 
of  the  Adeline  in  language  intelligible  only  at  times 
to  the  unenlightened  listener,  and  in  the  mean  time 
2 


18          'THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

the  three  women  chatted  together  softly,  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room. 

Captain  Jabez  was  in  high  spirits,  and  made  him 
self  most  agreeable.  He  had  always  been  called 
good  company  before  his  deafness  had  isolated  him  in 
the  midst  of  society ;  in  his  young  days  he  had  been 
a  good  deal  of  a  beau  and  gallant,  and  his  wife  was 
proud  of  him  yet,  and  always  said  that  nobody  knew 
so  well  as  he  how  to  carry  things  off  well.  She  re 
fused,  on  this  ground,  to  grant  him  permission  to  ab 
sent  himself  from  her  tea-parties  or  sewing-society 
suppers,  which  were  the  main  features  of  the  town 
festivities.  He  had  grown  very  heavy  and  stupid  of 
late,  —  at  least,  it  seemed  so  to  most  of  his  neigh 
bors,  —  but  this  evening  call  had  awakened  much  of 
his  ancient  vivacity. 

It  was  an  awful  moment  to  all  the  rest  when  he 
turned,  with  apparent  innocence,  to  Susan,  and  said, 
"  Cap'n  Peter  said  you  was  inquiring  about  Dan 
Lewis  and  them  that  was  out  fishing?" 

"  Yes ! "  shouted  Susan,  with  great  bravery,  her 
cheeks  growing  scarlet, 

"  I  s'pose  you  've  heard  by  this  time  that  they  Ve 
got  in  ?  I  chanced  to  be  down  on  Sand's  wharf  when 
they  come  ashore,  and  a  more  miser'ble-looking  set  o' 
drownded  rats  I  never  see ;  but  they  was  fools  to  have 


THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  19 

put  out  in  such  weather,  so  tfley  was,  and  I  told  'em 
so.  Dan'l,  he  said  that  they  got  outside  and  set  their 
trawls  in  the  night ;  but  there  was  an  old  sea  a-run- 
ning,  and  their  trawls  parted  and  caught,  so  they  lost 
two  thirds  o'  one  on  'em.  I  don't  see  how  they  got 
in.  They  said  they  never  see  no  such  a  fog  as  there 
is  outside.  They  worked  toward  the  shore  somehow 
or  'nother,  and  after  a  while  they  heard  the  town  bell 
ringing  at  one  o'clock,  and  they  steered  by  that. 
'T  was  about  four  o'clock  when  they  come  in.  Dan'l 
said  if  it  had  come  on  to  blow,  't  would  'a'  been  all 
day  with  'em.  He  said  he  was  a  fool  to  go  out.  The 
airs  seemed  to  be  took  out  o'  him  a  little  for  once." 

"  Glad  of  it,"  said  Captain  Joe,  chuckling  with  de 
light,  while  the  three  women  grew  more  and  more 
uneasy.  "  Dan'l  al'ays  was  all  talk  and  no  cider." 

Susan  looked  very  black.  She  had  borne  with 
Captain  Jabez  patiently ;  there  was  no  knowing  that 
he  had  heard  the  town  gossip.  But  deaf  people  hear 
more  things  that  are  worth  listening  to  than  people 
with  better  ears  ;  one  likes  to  have  something  worth 
telling  in  talking  to  a  person  who  misses  most  of  the 
world's  talk. 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  forget  yourself  so  as  to  say  such 
a  thing  as  that,"  Susan  said  scornfully  to  her  grand 
father  ;  and  she  spoke  loud  enough  for  Captain  Jabez 


20  THE  MATE    OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

to  hear.  "  I  won't  stand  by  and  hear  Dan  abused. 
I  may  as  well  tell  all  of  you  now  that  I  am  going 
to  marry  him." 

"  There,  there,  Susan  !  Don't  be  hasty,"  whis 
pered  Miss  Melinda  Ryder  appealingly.  The  girl 
looked  for  a  minute  as  if  she  could  hardly  keep  from 
crying.  She  had  been  very  anxious  about  her  lover, 
and  she  was  glad  enough  to  hear  of  his  safety ;  but 
she  said,  after  an  awful  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  that 
she  could  n't  see  why  everybody  made  such  a  touse 
about  his  going  out  fishing,  any  way.  It  had  hap 
pened  times  enough  before  that  men  had  gone  out  in 
the  night  and  been  caught  by  the  fog. 

"  We  won't  talk  no  more  about  it  now,  Susan," 
commanded  Captain  Joe,  with  an  air  of  offended  dig 
nity,  and  Susan  feared  that  she  had  gone  too  far.  It 
was  all  very  well  to  hold  her  own,  and  she  had  taken 
pride  all  day  in  her  ability  to  make  her  grandfather 
uncomfortable  ;  but  it  would  not  do  to  provoke  him 
altogether,  since  he  might  leave  his  money  in  a  way 
that  she  would  regret.  And  he  had  always  been  very 
kind  to  her  until  lately,  when  she  had  been  calling 
him  a  tyrant,  and  had  pleased  herself  with  consid 
ering  him  her  enemy. 

The  proverb  with  which  Captain  Joe  had  roused 
this  battle  about  his  ears  had  left  a  suggestion  in  his 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  21 

mind,  and  he  rose  from  his  chair,  while  the  rest  of 
the  company  were  trying  to  collect  the  stray  bits  of 
conversation  which  were  left  in  their  shocked  minds  ; 
and,  taking  the  small  hand-lamp  from  the  secretary 
and  a  pitcher  from  the  closet,  he  went  down  cellar, 
and  drew  some  of  the  ale  which  the  mention  of  talk 
and  cider  had  made  him  remember. 

"  It 's  out  of  a  little  kag  that  Aleck  Jones  sent  me 
for  a  present  last  week,"  he  explained,  as  he  came 
puffing  up  the  stairs.  "  Git  some  glasses,  will  you, 
Melinda?" 

Captain  Jabez  coughed  gravely,  and  the  ale  proved 
very  good,  and  all  seemed  fair  weather  again.  Susan 
looked  shyly  up  at  her  grandfather's  face  as  he  gave 
her  a  tumbler.  She  was  not  fond  of  ale,  but  she  did 
not  like  to  refuse  this.  She  could  not  help  noticing 
that  the  old  man's  hand  shook,  and  that  he  looked 
hurt  and  tired.  He  took  no  notice  of  her,  appar 
ently  ;  he  had  grown  very  old  this  last  year,  she 
thought,  and  she  was  sorry  she  had  been  so  angry 
with  him.  But  she  would  teach  folks  to  let  Dan 
Lewis  and  herself  alone. 

Captain  Jabez  and  his  wife  set  sail  on  their  home 
ward  voyage  at  an  early  hour.  They  expressed  a 
fear  that  the  fog  might  turn  to  rain,  and  the  lantern 
went  bobbing  and  swaying  up  the  street.  "  What 


22  THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

possessed  you  to  get  going  about  Dan  Lewis  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Jabez,  reproachfully.  "  You  spoilt  every 
thing,  and  we  was  having  such  a  pleasant  talk,  all  of 
us." 

"  I  wanted  to  stir  her  up,"  answered  the  captain, 
composedly.  "  I  never  did  like  that  girl  over  well. 
I  don't  think  she  's  got  no  sort  o'  gratitude,  after  all 
that 's  been  done  for  her.  She  got  a  piece  o'  my 
mind  about  that  fellow's  going  on,  so  she  did." 

"  It  don't  do  no  good,"  said  his  wife.  "  and  you  Ve 
got  no  more  sense  than  a  boy.  Why  did  n't  you  tell 
me  they  'd  come  in  ?  "  To  which  the  captain  made 
no  answer,  taking  refuge  in  his  deafness,  though  he 
could  always  hear  what  his  wife  said,  being  so  well 
used  to  her  voice. 

Captain  Joe  Ryder  came  back  to  the  dining-room, 
after  bolting  and  locking  the  fore-door  behind  his 
visitors.  "  I  guess  I  '11  make  for  bed,"  he  said.  "  And, 
Susan,  I  've  got  one  thing  I  want  to  say  to  you  : 
I  Ve  treated  you  as  well  as  I  knew  how,  and  I  Ve 
done  for  your  good  ever  since  you  was  left  a  baby  ; 
and  if  I  don't  want  you  to  fling  yourself  away  on  a 
worthless  fellow  that  can't  call  a  dollar  his  own,  I 
don't  know  as  I  'm  to  blame  for  it.  And  I  think 
you  Ve  let  yourself  down,  speaking  so  smart  to  me 
afore  folks  ;  it  hurt  my  feelin's." 


TEE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  23 

Susan  began  to  cry.  "  I  'm  sure  you  're  always 
hurtin'  mine,"  said  she.  "  I  can't  help  it  if  I  do  like 
him ;  and  there  's  lots  of  fellows  that  start  without 
any  means,  and  get  rich  soon  enough." 

The  captain  turned  back  as  he  heard  this.  "  He 
don't  come  of  a  good  stock,  and  I  should  rather  he 
showed  me  five  thousand  dollars  in  his  hand  than 
have  him  promise  he  was  going  make  it.  I  and  my 
father  before  me  lived  single  till  we  owned  that  much 
money,  and  if  you  'd  seen  as  much  of  this  world  as 
I  have  you  'd  think  we  done  right.  You  wait  till 
you  're  as  old  as  I  be,  and  you  '11  look  at  most  things 
different  from  what  you  do  now.  I  always  have 
calc'lated  on  seeing  you  well  married  and  settled 
afore  I  'm  laid  away,  and  I  hope  to  yet ;  but  there  's 
no  sense  in  marrying  a  fellow  just  because  he  's 
good-lookin'  and  has  a  smart  way  with  him,"  and  the 
captain  shut  his  bedroom  door  behind  him,  and  said 
no  more. 

Susan  considered  herself  to  be  in  a  position  of 
great  misery,  and  she  sat  by  the  window  and  cried  as 
long  as  she  could,  after  she  went  up-stairs.  She 
pitied  herself  very  much,  and  yet  she  had  a  great 
respect  for  herself  as  the  heroine  of  an  unhappy  love 
affair. 

But  in  the  morning  affairs  wore  a  different  aspect. 


24  THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

Dan  Lewis  came  in  soon  after  breakfast,  looking  ex 
cited  and  pleased,  and  as  if  he  had  something  to  say 
that  would  make  him  welcome.  Captain  Joe  spoke 
to  him  civilly,  and  the  women  bade  him  good-morn 
ing,  and  looked  at  him  curiously,  for  they  were  sure 
he  had  important  news. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  got  a  letter  from  my 
uncle  last  night,  sir,"  he  told  the  captain,  "  and  he 
says  that  the  Daylight  is  going  to  sail  as  quick  as 
they  can  fit  her  out,  and  he  wants  me  aboard  right 
away.  I  'm  going  on  to  New  York  this  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  Dan  ! "  cried  Susan,  with  real  distress. 
"  Can't  you  put  it  off  until  to-morrow  ?  "  But  Dan 
went  on  talking  to  the  captain. 

"  My  uncle  says  she  's  going  to  Liverpool  in  bal 
last,  but  the  owners  are  sure  of  getting  a  freight 
there  for  the  East  Indies.  They  're  going  to  send 
her  along,  anyhow,  for  there  's  nothing  doing  in 
freights  in  New  York,  and  "  — 

"  Right  they  are,  too,"  interrupted  the  captain. 
"I  was  reading  the  other  day  how  freights  were 
looking  up  on  the  other  side,  and  they  was  short  of 
ships,  for  a  wonder.  It  was  betwixt  hay  and  grass 
with  'em,  and  bad  head-winds  had  delayed  a  good 
many  vessels  bound  for  English  ports.  And  you  '11 
have  a  quick  run  across ;  it 's  a  first-rate  time  o'  year. 


THE  MATE   OF   THE  DAYLIGHT.  25 

Well,  I  wish  you  a  good  v'y'ge,  my  boy,  and  a  safe 
return,"  said  the  captain,  heartily,  feeling  the  kinship 
of  sailor  with  sailor,  and  forgetting  his  dislike  for  the 
man  himself. 

Dan  took  courage  from  the  captain's  cordiality, 
and  with  a  glance  at  Susan,  who  stood  listening,  with 
her  eyes  full  of  tears,  he  said,  "  If  I  do  well,  I  hope 
you  've  no  objections  to  my  asking  Susan  "  — 

The  old  man's  face  looked  black  for  a  minute,  but 
he  quickly  recovered  himself.  "  Not  if  you  do  well, 
I  have  n't,  Dan  ;  but  a  second  mate's  berth  ain't 
much  of  a  business  in  the  state  navigation  's  in  now. 
But  if  you  show  you  mean  to  do  well,  and  I  hear  a 
good  report  of  you,  I  sha'n't  have  anything  to  say 
against  it,  if  so  be  that  you  keep  of  the  same  mind, 
both  of  you.  You've  got  just  as  good  a  chance  as 
the  next  one,  if  you  're  willing  to  put  right  to  ;  and 
there  's  money  to  be  earnt  yet  followin'  the  sea,  bad 
as  times  is.  You  young  folks  thinks  that  love  's  the 
main  p'int,  and  I  don't  say  but  what  it  is  ;  but  there  's 
a  good  deal  more  chance  for  it  to  hold  out  when 
there  's  means  to  make  things  comfortable.  And  you 
ought  to  want  Susan  to  have  a  good  home  full  as 
much  as  I  do." 

"  I  do  set  everything  by  her,"  said  the  young 
sailor  ;  but  he  looked  humbled  at  this  announcement 


26  THE  MATE    OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

of  what  would  be  expected  of  him  as  to  material 
comforts. 

"  I  Ve  only  got  one  thing  more  to  say  to  you,"  the 
captain  added.  "  If  I  do  hear  good  accounts  of  you, 
and  have  reason  to  think  you  Ve  done  well,  I  '11  help 
you  out  any  way  I  can.  I  know  you  have  n't  got 
any  folks  of  your  own  to  look  to.  It  ain't  as  if 
your  uncle  had  n't  met  with  bad  luck  of  late  years." 

"  He  's  doing  very  well  this  past  year,"  said  Dan, 
with  as  much  pride  as  he  dared  show  ;  "  and  he  says 
he  means  to  push  me  ahead  as  fast  as  he  can." 

"  Better  look  to  yourself  for  that,"  said  Captain 
Joe,  gravely.  "  Talk 's  cheap  ;  "  and,  Miss  Melinda 
having  been  called  to  the  door  by  some  one  who  had 
come  with  an  errand,  he  went  out  to  the  garden, 
which  lay  behind  the  house,  and  left  the  lovers  to 
themselves.  Susan  cried,  but  the  mate  of  the  Day 
light  was  not  moved  to  grief;  he  consoled  her  as  best 
he  could,  and  with  great  kindness,  and  showed  her 
that  he  carried  her  picture  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
and  told  her  that  he  should  kiss  it  every  day.  And 
then  he  kissed  her  several  times,  and  promised  to 
write  and  to  think  of  her ;  and  altogether  they  were 
very  sad  and  affectionate,  being  much  in  love,  and 
feeling  that  they  were  hardly  used  by  fortune,  since, 
if  Captain  Joe  had  ever  said  the  word,  they  would 


THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  27 

have  been  married,  and  Dan  would  have  willingly 
taken  up  his  residence  in  the  home  of  Susan's  child 
hood.  He  meant  to  settle  down  into  the  business  and 
idleness  of  fishing  and  coasting,  and  of  doing  great 
things  with  Captain  Joe's  savings  by  and  by,  when 
he  had  the  opportunity.  And  he  certainly  was  the 
handsomest  young  man  in  town.  Susan  watched  him 
proudly  through  her  tears,  as  he  hurried  away  at  last. 
His  mind  was  full  of  going  down  the  street  to  tell 
his  acquaintances  of  his  prospects  and  his  long  voy 
age  ;  and  afterward  he  must  go  home  to  toss  his  be 
longings  into  his  sea-chest,  and  say  good-by  to  his 
mother.  She  was  old  and  in  ill-health,  and  the 
thought  struck  him  sharply  that  he  might  not  find 
her  there  to  welcome  him  when  the  voyage  was  over 
and  he  came  home  again. 

By  noon  of  that  day  he  had  gone.  The  people  of 
the  town  were  used  to  their  neighbors  going  away  to 
sea,  and  so  Dan's  departure  did  not  make  a  great  ex 
citement.  The  subject  of  his  relations  with  the  Ryder 
family  was  discussed  for  a  while,  but  it  was  decided 
that  he  was  not  engaged  to  Susan,  and  that  affairs 
were  left  in  the  state  they  had  been  in  for  some  time 
before. 

Many  months  afterward,  in  the  middle  of  a  pleas- 


28  THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

ant  September  afternoon,  Miss  Melinda  Ryder  took 
a  solitary  walk  to  the  old  bury  ing-ground  on  the 
hill.  As  we  have  heard,  all  her  sisters  had  married 
captains,  and  Melinda  herself  had  been  promised  to 
a  young  man,  who  was  unfortunately  drowned  on  his 
first  voyage  as  master.  She  had  never  replaced  him 
in  her  affection ;  her  love  and  loyalty  grew  stronger 
and  stronger  instead  of  fading  away.  She  had  been 
expecting  to  marry  him  in  a  few  weeks,  when  his 
homeward  voyage  should  have  ended,  and  on  high 
days  and  holidays  ever  since  she  had  looked  sadly 
through  the  old  sea-chest  of  her  father's,  that  held 
many  of  the  treasures  that  her  lover  had  given  her, 
and  what  was  left  of  her  now  quaint  and  old-fash 
ioned  wedding  outfit.  And  once  in  a  while,  through 
the  summer  weather,  she  went  to  this  burying- 
ground,  where  a  stone  had  been  raised  in  the  family 
lot  to  his  memory,  and  felt  herself  at  such  times, 
and  in  fact  at  many  others,  to  be  a  widow  indeed. 
It  always  seemed  to  her  as  if  that  were  his  grave; 
at  any  rate,  she  felt  a  greater  nearness  to  him  in  that 
spot  than  in  any  other.  His  family,  with  great  con 
sideration,  had  asked  her  advice  in  the  choice  of  the 
head-stone,  and  though  she  liked  marble  best,  she 
had  chosen  a  tall,  broad  slab  of  slate,  on  which  was 
cut  the  familiar  figure  of  a  mourner  beneath  a  wil- 


THE  MATE  OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  29 

low-tree.  She  identified  this  figure  with  herself 
always,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  great  sorrow  to  her 
that  it  would  be  out  of  the  question  for  her  to  be 
buried  at  the  side  of  this  untenanted  grave.  She 
would  have  been  glad  if  she  could  have  been  sure 
that  she  would  be  buried  there,  but  she  never  dared 
to  express  such  a  wish  ;  it  would  sound  very  strange, 
she  thought,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  her  to  be  her 
proper  resting-place. 

On  this  day  it  was  very  pleasant  in  the  burying- 
ground.  The  wind  was  blowing  in  from  the  sea,  and 
the  tall,  uncared-for  grass  waved  this  way  find  that ; 
and  she  read  the  name  of  one  old  acquaintance  after 
another,  as  she  went  along  a  crooked  path  that 
wound  among  the  graves.  Miss  Ryder  was  already 
an  old  woman,  and  she  was  tired  with  her  walk,  and 
was  glad  to  stop  to  rest,  as  she  read  for  the  hun 
dredth  time  the  name  of  Captain  Joseph  Sewall : 
Lost  at  Sea.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  she 
gently  stroked  the  slate  head-stone  with  her  hand, 
and  picked  off  a  gray  lichen  that  had  fastened  its 
tenacious  roots  into  the  crevice  of  one  of  the  letters, 
while  the  face  of  her  sailor  lover  came  clearly  to 
her  mind.  She  did  not  know  why,  but  she  felt  very 
lonely  that  day.  She  and  Susan  had  never  been 
very  dear  to  each  other  ;  it  was  an  affection  bred  of 


30  THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

attachment  and  kinship  and  long  association,  rather 
than  an  instinctive  drawing  together  of  their  natures, 
and  she  knew  that  Susan's  home  was  not  likely  to 
be  hers,  and  that  in  all  probability  her  father  could 
not  live  many  years  longer  ;  at  his  death  she  would 
be  left  alone.  Her  married  sisters  were  all  dead,  and 
Susan's  father,  her  only  brother,  had  died  nfany  years 
before.  "  It 's  the  common  lot  of  all,"  she  told  her 
self,  "  and  I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  it  is  likely 
father  will  leave  me  very  comfortable." 

Susan  had  been  anxious  of  late  about  her  lover. 
The  letters  had  not  come  often  at  best,  for  the  mate 
of  the  Daylight  did  not  hold  the  pen  of  a  ready 
writer,  and  the  long  voyages  from  port  to  port  had 
caused  long  silences  that  were  nobody's  fault.  The 
last  report  from  the  ship  had  been  that  the  next 
move  was  undecided ;  she  might  sail  for  the  East  In 
dies  again  before  coming  back  to  the  States.  There 
had  been  heavy  gales  at  sea,  and  Miss  Melinda  had 
felt  great  sympathy  for  her  niece  when  she  asked  the 
old  captain  so  eagerly  every  day  if  there  were  any 
letters,  and  was  disappointed  by  his  answer. 

She  never  had  pitied  the  girl  so  much  as  she  did 
when  the  thought  came  to  her  that  the  ship  might  be 
lost  and  that  Susan  would  have  to  bear  a  sorrow  like 
her  own. 


THE  MATE   OF  Tff<E   DAYLIGHT.  31 

And  Miss  Ryder  seated  herself  on  the  grass,  and 
sat  looking  off  to  sea.  How  many  times  she  had  sat 
there,  and  how  dark  the  world  used  to  seem  to  her 
when  she  came  there  first  to  show  respect  for  her  lover 
and  her  tenderness  for  his  memory  !  Yet  the  years 
had  worn  away  one  by  one,  and  this  faithful  soul  had 
in  later  days  wondered  as  much  about  the  meeting,  at 
some  not  far  distant  time,  as  she  had  dwelt  in  thought 
over  the  sad  farewell  of  many  years  before. 

Miss  Ryder  made  a  call  or  two  on  her  way  home, 
and  it  was  almost  tea-time  when  she  reached  the 
house,  and  heard  an  unusual  noise  of  voices  as  she 
hurried  in.  What  a  surprise  it  was  to  see  young 
Lewis,  grown  older  and  broad-shouldered,  with  his 
face  browned  and  reddened  by  the  sea  winds  !  Susan 
was  beaming  with  happiness,  and  Captain  Joe  looked 
very  pleased  and  interested,  and  was  listening  to  a 
long  story  of  the  voyage.  Miss  Ryder  had  not  pre 
pared  her  mind  for  being  kissed,  but  kissed  she  was, 
and  her  father  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands  to 
gether  ;  she  thought  he  looked  older  than  ever  as  he 
sat  by  the  side  of  this  bronzed,  eager  young  man. 

"  Why,  when  did  you  get  in  ? "  she  asked  the 
sailor.  And  he  told  his  story  again,  that  the  ship 
had  reached  New  York  only  the  day  before,  and  he 


32  THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT. 

wished  to  come  home  to  surprise  them,  and  so  had 
sent  no  message. 

u  He  is  going  back  early  in  the  morning,"  said  the 
captain.  "  He  tells  us  lie  has  been  made  master  of 
the  ship  ; "  and  if  young  Lewis  had  been  the  old 
man's  only  son  he  could  not  have  looked  happier  or 
prouder ;  while  Susan  tossed  her  head  a  little,  as  if 
she  were  not  surprised,  and  had  always  been  sure  of 
this  triumph  from  the  beginning. 

It  proved  that  the  captain  of  the  Daylight  had 
been  washed  overboard  in  a  gale  the  third  day  out, 
and  the  first  mate  had  been  ill  during  the  homeward 

o 

voyage,  and  had  been  forced  to  give  up  his  position 
altogether.  So  Susan's  lover  had  brought  the  ship 
across,  and  had  handled  her  well,  too.  He  had 
taken  the  first  mate's  duties  for  several  weeks  be 
fore  they  had  reached  Bristol,  and  had  won  great  re 
spect  for  his  knowledge  of  seamanship :  this  and  his 
relationship  to  one  of  the  owners  had  secured  him 
the  position  of  captain.  More  than  this,  he  had  car 
ried  away  some  money  which  his  mother  had  given 
him  from  her  little  hoard,  and  he  had  traded  with  it, 
and  brought  her  home  more  than  three  hundred  dol 
lars,  while  he  had  something  of  his  own  beside  his 
pay,  in  his  pocket.  The  elder  captain  was  ready  to 
hear  of  his  future  projects,  and  a  more  cheerful  com 
pany  never  sat  down  to  drink  tea  together. 


THE  MATE   OF  THE  DAYLIGHT.  33 

The  first  Sunday  he  spent  at  home,  he  and  Susan 
walked  up  the  broad  aisle  of  the  church  side  by  side 
to  Captain  Ryder's  pew,  and  she  wore  triumphantly 
a  wide  red  India  scarf  folded  about  her  shoulders. 
And  on  week  days  she  was  proud  to  show  the  young 
women  of  her  acquaintance  other  timely  gifts  from 
her  handsome  and  promising  lover.  So  the  mate  of 
the  Daylight  returned  to  his  unbelieving  friends  a 
shipmaster,  and  when  he  sailed  on  his  next  voyage, 
having  gained  the  owners'  permission  to  carry  her, 
he  had  his  wife  for  company. 

But  old  Captain  Jabez,  who  had  been  made  to 
hear  all  these  things  with  difficulty,  on  account  of  his 
increasing  deafness,  grumbled  out  one  day,  as  he  sat 
on  one  of  the  wharves  in  the  sunshine,  like  an  old 
fly  who  had  just  crawled  out  of  a  crack  in  the  spring, 
"  It 's  the  next  v'y'ge  that  '11  show  what  stuff  he  's 
made  of.  You  might  say  this  was  his  luck,  but  the 
next  '11  have  to  be  his  earning.  There 's  plenty  of 
able  shipmasters,  lying  idle,  I  should  think  they  'd 
ha'  took  afore  they  did  him.  But  I  wish  Dan  well, 
so  I  do.  I  'm  one  that  likes  to  see  young  folks  pros 
per  and  have  their  day.  I  've  had  mine  !  " 


A  LANDLESS   FARMER. 


IT  was  late  in  a  lovely  day  of  early  spring,  the  first 
warm  Sunday  of  the  year,  when  people  who  had  been 
housed  all  winter  came  out  to  church,  looking  pale, 
and  as  if  they  had  been  hidden  or  lost  for  months. 
It  seemed  as  if  winter,  the  stern  old  king,  had  sud 
denly  died,  and  as  if  the  successor  to  the  throne 
were  a  tender-hearted  young  princess,  and  every 
body  felt  a  cheerful  sense  of  comparative  liberty  and 
freedom.  The  frogs  were  lifting  up  their  voices 
in  all  the  swamps,  having  discovered  all  at  once  that 
they  were  thawed  out,  and  that  it  was  time  to  assert 
themselves.  A  faint  tinge  of  greenness  suddenly  ap 
peared  on  the  much-abused  and  weather-beaten  grass 
by  the  roadsides,  and  the  willows  were  covered  with 
a  mist  of  greenish  gold.  The  air  was  fragrant,  and 
so  warm  that  it  was  almost  summer-like ;  but  the 
elderly  people  shook  their  heads,  as  they  greeted 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  35 

each  other  gravely  in  the  meeting-house  yard,  and 
said  it  was  fine  weather  overhead,  or  perhaps  spoke  of 
the  day  reproachfully  as  a  weather-breeder.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  general  dislike  to  giving  unqualified 
praise  to  this  Sunday  weather,  which  was  sure  to  be 
like  one  of  the  sweet  spring  flowers  that  surprise  us 
because  they  bloom  so  early,  and  grieve  us  because 
they  are  so  quick  to  fade. 

After  church  was  over  in  the  afternoon,  two  or 
three  men  were  spending  an  idle  hour  on  a  little 
bridge  where  the  main  highway  of  Wyland  crossed 
Cranberry  Brook ;  a  small  stream  enough  in  summer, 
when  it  could  only  provide  water  sufficient  for  the  re 
freshment  of  an  occasional  horse  or  dog  belonging 
to  some  stray  traveler.  It  was  apt  to  dry  up  alto 
gether  just  when  it  was  needed  most ;  but  now  the 
swamp  which  it  drained  was  running  over  with  water, 
and  sent  down  a  miniature  flood,  that  bit  at  the  banks 
and  clutched  at  the  roots  and  tufts  of  rushes  as  if  it 
wished  to  hold  itself  back.  It  had  piled  already  a 
barricade  of  leaves  and  sticks  and  yellow  foam 
against  the  feeble  fence  that  crossed  it  at  the  road 
side,  and  the  posts,  which  were  almost  rotted  away, 
were  leaning  over  and  working  to  and  fro,  as  if  they 
had  hard  work  to  stand  the  strain,  and  might  fall 
with  a  great  splash  and  go  down  stream  with  the 


36  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

mossy  rails  and  the  sticks  and  yellow  foam  any  min 
ute. 

The  water  had  risen  to  within  a  short  distance  of 
the  floor  of  the  bridge,  and  the  three  men  stood 
watching  it  with  great  interest.  Two  of  them,  who 
had  come  from  church,  had  found  the  other  standing 
there.  He  owned  the  pasture  through  which  the 
brook  ran  on  its  way  to  the  river ;  but  on  that  side 
of  the  road  the  ground  fell  off,  so  there  was  a  small 
cascade  ;  and  his  own  stone  walls,  which  stopped  at 
the  edge  of  this,  were  in  no  danger.  He  wore  his 
e very-day  clothes,  but  the  other  men  were  in  their 
Sunday  best. 

"  Warm  for  the  time  o'  year,  ain't  it  ?  "  asked  one 
of  these,  taking  off  his  hat,  and  giving  his  forehead  a 
rub  with  his  coat  sleeve.  "  I  wore  my  overcoat  that 
I  have  been  wearing  this  winter  to  meeting  this  morn 
ing,  and  the  heft  of  it  was  more  than  a  load  of  hay. 
I  come  off  without  it  this  afternoon.  The  folks  said 
I  should  get  my  death  o'  cold,  and  I  do'  know  but 
they  was  right,  but  I  wa'n't  going  to  swelter  as  I  did 
in  the  forenoon  for  nobody." 

"'Tis  warm,"  said  Ezra  Allen,  who  was  without 
his  own  waistcoat,  and  who  whittled  a  deliciously 
smooth  and  soft  bit  of  pine  with  a  keen-edged  knife, 
in  ideal  Yankee  fashion.  "  I  've  been  looking  to  see 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  37 

that  old  fence  of  Uncle  Jenkins's  topple  over;  the 
stream  's  most  as  high  as  I  ever  see  it.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  it  come  over  the  bridge,  if  this  weather 
holds." 

u  Crambry  Brook 's  b'en  over  this  bridge  more 
times  'u'  you  've  got  fingers  and  toes,  Ezra,"  said  the 
third  man,  scornfully.  "  Guess  you  've  forgot.  When 
I  was  a  boy,  't  was  customary  for  it  to  go  over  the 
bridge  every  spring,  and  I  do'  know  but  I  've  seen  it 
in  the  fall  rains  as  well.  Parker  Jenkins  come  near 
getting  drowned  here  once,  you  know." 

"  You  're  thinking  of  the  little  old  bridge  that  used 
to  be  over  it  when  we  was  boys ;  't  was  two  or  three 
foot  lower  than  this.  The  road  used  to  be  all  under 
water  in  them  days  ;  I  know  that  well  as  anybody. 
I  was  n't  referring  to  tho  bridge.  I  said  the  brook 
was  high  as  I  ever  see  it.  Ef  you  had  that  little 
bridge  that  was  here  before  they  h'isted  up  the  road, 
I  guess  you  'd  find  it  well  wet  down." 

"  Don't  seem  to  me  as  if  the  brooks  run  so  high  as 
they  used,"  suggested  Henry  Wallis,  mildly.  "  They 
say  it 's  because  the  country 's  been  stripped  of  its 
growth  so.  Cutting  the  pines  all  off  lets  the  sun  get 
to  the  springs,  and  the  ground  dries  right  up.  I 
can't  say  I  understand  it  myself,  but  they  've  got  an 
argument  for  everything  nowadays." 


38  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

"  There  ain't  so  much  snow  as  there  used  to  be 
when  we  was  boys,"  said  Ezra  Allen.  "  I  never  see 
no  such  drifts  anywhere  about  as  used  to  be  round 
the  old  school-house ;  we  used  to  make  caves  in  'em 
that  you  could  stand  right  up  in,  and  have  lots  o' 
clear  room  overhead,  too." 

"  You  're  considerable  taller  than  you  was  in  them 
days,  Ezry,"  said  Asa  Parsons.  "  That  makes  some 
difference ; "  and  the  three  neighbors  laughed  to 
gether,  as  if  it  were  a  great  joke. 

All  through  the  parish  were  little  groups  of  people 
like  this,  gossiping  together  on  their  unfrequented 
front  steps,  or  before  the  barn  doors,  where  happy 
fowls  fluffed  their  feathers  and  scratched  the  wet 
ground,  or  quawked  and  strutted  to  and  fro.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  social  visiting  going  on,  and  as 
the  three  men  stood  together  on  the  bridge,  which 
was  a  favorite  abiding  place  in  summer,  being  not  far 
from  several  farmhouses,  they  spoke  to  one  neighbor 
after  another,  as  he  or  she  went  along  in  the  mud 
diest  possible  wagons.  As  for  the  horses,  they  were 
steaming  as  if  they  had  come  from  the  races,  and 
looked  as  if  they  wished,  like  their  masters,  to  be  re 
lieved  of  their  winter  coats. 

"  Seems  to  me  everybody  was  out  to-day,"  said 
Ezra  Allen,  who  was  a  rosy-faced,  pleasant-looking 


A  LANDLESS. FARMER.  39 

man  of  about  forty.  "  I  do'  know  when  I  've  missed 
a  Sunday  before ;  "  and  he  went  on  clipping  little 
white  chips  from  his  stick,  which  was  dwindling  away 
slowly. 

The  other  men  waited  for  a  few  moments,  until 
they  became  certain  that  he  would  say  no  more  of 
his  own  accord  ;  and  then  Asa  Parsons  boldly  in 
quired  what  had  kept  him  at  home  from  meeting, 
and  was  told  that  he  had  watched  the  night  before 
with  old  Mr.  Jerry  Jenkins. 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  did,"  said  Wallis,  with 
much  concern.  "  I  'd  no  idea  that  he  was  so  bad  off 
as  to  have  watchers.  And  I  should  think  his  own 
folks  might  take  care  of  him  amongst  themselves. 
He  ain't  been  sick  enough  to  tucker  them  out,  seems 
to  me." 

"  I  guess  I  'm  as  near  to  being  his  own  folks  as 
anybody,  if  setting  by  him  counts  for  anything,"  said 
Ezra,  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling.  "  I  always 
thought  everything  of  Uncle  Jerry.  He  's  done  me 
more  kind  turns  than  anybody  else  ever  did,  and  he 's 
a  good-hearted  man,  if  ever  there  was  one.  He 's 
none  of  your  sharpers,  but  he  's  got  the  good  will  of 
everybody  that  knows  him,  'less  it 's  his  own  chil 
dren." 

The  three  friends  were   leaning  against  the   rail 


40  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

of  the  bridge,  all  in  a  row.  Ezra  whittled  fiercely 
for  a  minute ;  the  hands  of  his  companions  were 
plunged  deep  into  their  already  sagging  pockets. 
They  looked  at  him  eagerly,  for  they  knew  instinct 
ively  that  he  was  going  to  say  something  more.  He 
shut  his  jack-knife  with  a  loud  snap,  and  turned  and 
threw  the  bit  of  white  pine  into  the  noisy,  rushing 
brook.  It  was  only  a  second  before  it  had  gone  un 
der  the  bridge,  to  show  itself  white  and  light  on  the 
brown  water,  and  lift  itself  as  if  for  a  leap  on  the 
rounded  edge  of  the  little  fall,  and  disappear.  Ezra's 
forced  discretion  seemed  to  have  been  thrown  away 
with  it. 

"  Sereny  Nudd  found  out,  somehow  or  'nother,  be 
fore  I  come  away  this  morning,  that  I  mistrusted 
about  things,  and  she  come  meachin'  round,  wanting 
me  not  to  tell ;  but  all  I  told  her  was  that  I  would  n't 
have  done  it,  if  I  was  her,  if  I  was  going  to  be 
ashamed  of  it.  I  don't  know  when  anything  has 
riled  me  up  so.  Says  I,  right  to  her  face  and  eyes, 
I  'm  mortified  to  death  to  think  I  am  any  relation  to 
such  folks  as  you  be,  and  she  shut  the  door  right  in 
my  face,  and  I  cleared  out.  I  've  been  sorry  all  day 
I  said  it ;  not  on  account  of  her,  but  now  she  's  mad 
she  won't  let  me  go  near  the  old  gentleman,  if  she 
can  help  it,  and  I  might  have  looked  after  him  a 
good  deal." 


A  LANDLESS  "-FARMER.  41 

"  What 's  to  pay  ?  "  asked  Wallis  and  Parsons, 
eagerly ;  it  was  some  time  since  anything  had  hap 
pened  to  them  which  promised  to  be  of  so  much  in 
terest  as  this.  Ezra  Allen  was  not  easily  excited, 
and  was  an  uncommonly  peaceable  man  under  ordi 
nary  circumstances. 

"  Well,  if  I  must  say  it,  they  've  prevailed  upon 
that  poor  old  man  to  sign  away  his  property,  and  I 
call  it  a  burning  shame." 

"  How  long  ago  ?  "  and  the  hearers  looked  at  Ezra 
with  startled  countenances.  Yet  there  could  be  seen 
a  flicker  of  satisfaction  at  this  beginning  of  his  story. 

"  Some  time  in  the  winter,"  answered  Ezra.  "  The 
poor  creatur'  has  been  laid  up,  you  know,  a  good 
deal  of  the  time,  and  there  come  a  day  when  he  was 
summoned  to  probate  court,  on  account  of  that  trust 
money  he  's  got  for  the  Foxwell  child'n.  You  know 
he  's  guardeen  for  'em,  and  it's  been  a  sight  o'  trouble 
to  him.  He  might  have  sent  word  to  the  judge  that 
he  wa'n't  able  to  come  and  see  to  it,  and 't  would  ha' 
done  just  as  well  three  months  hence,  being  a  form  of 
law  he  had  to  go  through ;  but  what  does  them  plants 
o'  grace  do  but  work  him  all  up,  and  tell  him  a  lot  o' 
stuff  an'  nonsense,  until  he  was  ready  to  do  whatever 
they  said.  He  put  the  power  into  Aaron  Nudd's 
hands  to  go  over  and  tend  to  the  Foxwell  matter ; 


42  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

and  then  they  went  at  him  again  (he  told  me  all  about 
it  in  the  night,  though  I  have  had  an  inkling  of  it 
for  some  time  past),  and  they  told  him  't  wa'n't  likely 
he  'd  ever  get  about  again,  and  he  was  too  old  to  look 
after  business,  and  go  hither  and  yon  about  the  coun 
try.  All  he  wanted  was  his  liviri',  they  told  him, 
and  he  'd  better  give  them  the  care  of  things  and  save 
himself  all  he  could,  and  make  himself  comfortable 
the  rest  of  his  days.  Sereny  Nudd  is  dreadful  fair- 
spoken  when  she  gives  her  mind  to  it,  and  uncle, 
he  's  somehow  or  'nother  always  had  a  great  respect 
for  her  judgment,  and  been  kind  of  'fraid  of  her  into 
the  bargain  ;  and  he  was  sick  and  weak,  and  they 
bothered  him  about  to  death,  till  he  signed  off  at  last, 
just  to  get  a  little  peace.  Mary  Lyddy  Bryan  was 
there  at  the  time,  a  mournin'  and  complaining  same 
as  she  always  is.  Sereny  won't  have  her  about,  gen 
erally,  but  she  got  her  to  help  then,  and  between 
'em  they  won  him  over.  Mary  Lyddy  is  always  a 
dwellin'  on  being  left  a  widow  with  no  means,  and  a 
little  family  to  fetch  up,  and  her  father  's  always  had 
to  help  her.  Both  of  her  boys  is  big  enough  to  be 
doing  for  themselves,  and  ought  to  be  put  on  to 
farms,  or  to  some  trades  ;  but  they  '11  never  do  a  stroke 
of  work  if  they  can  help  it." 

"  Did  they  draw  up  the  papers  just  as  they  wanted 


A  LANDLESS  ^FARMER.  43 

?em,  and  make  the  old  sir  sign  'em  ?  "  asked  Parsons. 
"  I  should  n't  ha*  thought  he  'd  been  fool  enough." 

"  Nor  I,  neither,"  replied  Ezra,  who  was  in  the 
flood  tide  of  successful  narration  ;  "  but  we  know,  all 
of  us,  that  their  father  ain't  what  he  used  to  be,  and 
he  was  a  sick  man  at  the  time.  They  put  it  to  him 
this  way  :  that  he  would  have  everything  he  wanted, 
same  's  if  't  was  his  own,  and  that  he  should  have 
his  say  about  everything  just  the  same,  —  't  was  only 
to  save  him  trouble  of  the  care  of  things,  —  and  the 
way  Sereny  fixed  it  was  abominable.  She  got  him, 
first  of  all,  to  give  Mary  Lyddy  her  place  to  Harlow's 
Mills,  where  she  lives,  out  and  out,  '  because,'  says 
she,  '  it  may  smarten  up  the  boys,  and  give  them 
some  ambition,  if  they  feel  it 's  their  own.'  Mary 
Lyddy  always  was  kind  of  wanting,  and  she  never 
see  through  it  that  Sereny  was  getting  double  what 
she  was,  she  was  so  pleased  about  getting  her  place 
in  her  own  right.  Uncle,  he  told  me  he  did  n't  want 
to  do  anything  about  the  bank  stock,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  he  always  meant  the  farm  for  Parker;  but  the 
girls  set  to  so  about  him  that  there  wa'n't  no  use. 
Sereny  said  if  ever  her  father  wanted  to  change  his 
mind  he  could  do  it,  and  make  out  new  papers." 

"  After  he  'd  gone  and  give  it  to  her,  it  wa'n't  his 
to  give,"  growled  Asa  Parsons.  "  Did  n't  he  know 
that  ?  " 


44  A   LANDLESS  FARMER. 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you  he  's  been  sick  ever  since  he 
realized  what  he'd  done,"  said  Ezra.  "  He  said  last 
night  that  it  had  been  gnawing  at  his  conscience  that 
it  wa'n't  fair  to  Parker  or  to  Mary  Lyddy,  neither. 
I  stuck  up  for  Parker,  but  I  told  him  Mary  Lyddy 
would  n't  be  any  better  off  if  she  had  a  million  ;  and 
Sereny  wa'n't  far  from  the  truth  when  she  said  he  'd 
always  been  doing  for  her.  But  as  for  Parker,  he  'd 
done  well  enough  if  he  had  n't  been  nagged  to  death. 
I  know  he  drank  more  'n  was  good  for  him,  and  hated 
farm  work  ;  but  there  was  sights  o'  good  things  about 
him,  and  he  wa'n't  no  common  fool.  They  Ve  dinned 
it  into  the  old  man's  ears  that  he  must  be  dead,  they 
ain't  heard  from  him  for  so  long ;  but  Sereny  never 
would  write  to  him,  and  the  old  man's  eyesight 's 
failed  him  of  late.  He  cried  like  a  child  as  he  lay 
there  in  bed,  last  night.  He  got  hold  of  my  hand 
and  gripped  it,  arid  said  he  did  n't  know,  till  he  got 
Mary  Lyddy  to  read  him  the  paper  all  through,  once 
when  Sereny  was  out  to  a  neighbor's,  that  they  'd 
worded  it  so  's  to  leave  Parker  out.  It  gives  Mary 
Lyddy  her  place,  and  a  piece  of  woodland  beside, 
that  comes  from  her  mother's  folks  ;  and  everything 
else  —  this  farm,  and  the  bank  stock  and  everything 
—  to  Sereny.  She  's  got  as  much  as  three  thousand 
dollars  more  than  her  half,  —  grasping  creatur's  both 


A   LANDLESS^FARMER.  45 

on  'em,  she  and  Aaron  Nudd  is,  and  they  've  got  a 
young  one  that 's  going  to  be  worse  'n  either  of  'em. 
I  thought  last  night  that  the  sooner  poor  old  uncle 
was  laid  away,  down  in  the  burying-ground,  the  bet 
ter  't  would  be  for  him.  Like  's  not  they  '11  never 
trouble  themselves  to  set  up  a  stone  for  him  ;  but  I  '11 
see  to  it  myself,  sure  as  the  world,  if  they  don't  show 
him  respect,  —  taking  away  his  rights,  kind  as  he  's 
always  been,  and  a  good  neighbor.  His  only  fault 
has  been  that  he  was  too  lavish.  There  ain't  much 
the  matter  with  him  that  I  can  see,  except  he  's  dis 
tressed,  and  seemed  to  feel  he  was  broke  in  his  mind, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  look  forward  to.  They  've 
moved  him  out  of  the  room  where  he  always  slept 
into  a  back  bed -room,  where  there  ain't  room  to 
swing  a  cat,  and  no  chance  for  a  fire.  I  like  to  have 
froze  to  death.  I  set  up  in  my  overcoat  all  night,  for 
't  was  chillier  than  you  'd  suppose  before  such  a  mild 
day.  He  wa'n't  warm  enough  along  towards  morn 
ing,  and  I  scouted  round  till  I  got  some  blankets,  — 
for  there  was  n't  nothing  over  him  but  old  quilted 
spreads.  Sereny  come  in  in  the  morning,  mad  as 
fire  any  way,  because  it  seems  she  heard  us  talking 
in  the  night ;  but  when  she  see  them  blankets,  she 
like  to  have  died,  and  asked  why  I  did  n't  come  to 
her  if  I  wanted  more  bedclothe*  — 't  was  too  bad  to 


46  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

spill  medicines  all  over  the  best  she  had.  *  There 
ain't  a  spot  on  'em,  nor  a  brack  in  'em,'  said  I,  real 
pleasant,  though  I  could  ha'  bit  her  head  off.  '  I 
remember  I  was  with  your  mother  when  she  bought 
'em  ;  't  was  one  of  the  last  times  she  was  ever  over 
to  the  mills.  I  happened  to  be  into  Harlow's  shop 
when  she  was  selecting  them,  —  she  got  them  very 
cheap.  I  told  our  folks  what  a  bargain  they  was  for 
the  quality ;  not  that  I  pretend  to  be  a  judge  of  such 
things,  but  the  women  thought  they  did  n't  need  them.' 
I  just  spoke  of  it  to  Sereny,  so  she  'd  see  I  knew 
they  were  none  of  her  buying ;  and  I  said,  right  be 
fore  her,  '  The  best  ain't  too  good  for  you,  uncle.'  " 

u  Well,"  said  Henry  Wallis,  prudently,  "  I  never 
thought  I  should  like  to  take  up  with  Sereny  Nudd, 
for  better  for  worse  ;  but  she  may  do  well  by  her 
father,  after  all.  Old  folks  has  been  known  to  be  dif 
ficult,  but  she  ain't  done  right  so  far  as  we  can  see." 

"  Done  right !  "  exclaimed  Asa  Parsons.  "  It 's  a 
burning  shame,  and  J  hope  she  '11  be  met  with. 
That  's  what  was  going  on  one  day  last  winter,  when 
1  saw  that  sneaking  Josh  Hayden  riding  home  with 
Aaron  Nudd.  He  's  a  lawyer,  —  what  there  is  of 
him,  —  and  I  suppose  they  got  him  over  to  do  the 
business.  I  heard  he  'd  deeded  Mary  Lyddy  her 
place." 


A  LANDLESS  ^FARMER.  47 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  of  it,"  said  Ezra,  disgust 
edly,  "  but  it  follows  me  about  the  whole  time.  I 
suppose  I  could  have  got  out  to  meeting  to-day,  but 
it  would  have  been  more  than  I  could  stand  to  see 
Nudd  and  Sereny  parade  up  the  broad  aisle.  I  wa'n't 
so  beat  out  that  I  could  n't  have  gone  ;  one  night's 
watching  won't  use  me  up  !  " 

The  friends  now  separated,  for  the  air  was  growing 
cold  and  damp.  Asa  Parsons  mentioned  that  his 
overcoat  would  n't  do  him  any  harm  if  he  had  it  then, 
and  he  and  Wallis  went  away  together,  while  Ezra 
turned  toward  the  other  direction. 

"  Suppose  you  '11  be  out  to  town-meeting,"  Wallis 
called  after  him.  It  was  fairly  amazing  that  nobody 
should  have  spoken  about  the  great  day,  anticipa 
tions  of  which  were  in  every  man's  mind,  to  a  greater 
or  less  degree.  Ezra  Allen  had  not  been  without  his 
hopes  of  running  for  selectman,  —  to  tell  the  truth, 
he  had  looked  forward  all  the  week  before  to  fur 
thering  his  cause  among  his  neighbors  by  a  friendly 
word  in  season  on  Sunday  ;  but  his  uncle's  wrongs 
had  driven  his  own  political  interests  quite  out  of  his 
head.  He  walked  slowly  home  in  the  fast-gather 
ing  spring  chilliness,  the  noise  of  the  brook  growing 
fainter  and  fainter.  He  suffered  a  slight  reaction 
from  his  enthusiasm,  and  wished  he  had  not  spoken 


48  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

so  warmly  against  his  cousins.  "  Mary  Lyddy  's  a 
poor  dragging  creatur',''  he  said  to  himself ;  "  and  as 
for  Sereny,  she  's  near,  and  set  in  her  own  way,  but 
she  may  treat  the  old  .gentleman  well,  for  shame's 
sake.  I  don't  know  but  I  was  hasty,  but  I  don't  care 
if  I  was  ;  it  wa'n't  the  right  thing  for  her  to  do ;  and 
then,  there  's  Parker."  By  way  of  balancing  any 
harm  he  might  have  done,  he  held  his  peace  in  his 
own  household,  and  refrained  from  beguiling  the  tedi- 
ousness  of  a  Sunday  evening  by  introducing  this  most 
interesting  subject  of  conversation.  He  had  a  way 
of  keeping  things  to  himself  at  times,  which  his  wife 
found  most  provoking  ;  but  he  was  possessed  of  that 
uncharacteristic  trait  of  many  reticent  people,  of  tell 
ing  his  secrets  generously  and  even  recklessly,  if  he 
once  was  forced  to  break  through  the  first  barrier  of 
reserve. 

The  next  morning  was  clear  and  not  cold,  but  the 
warmth  and  revivifying  influence  of  the  day  before 
was  not  to  be  felt.  It  was  commonplace  New  Eng 
land  spring  weather,  and  had  a  relationship  to  the 
melting  of  snow  and  the  lingering  of  winter  which 
was  most  unconsoling.  A  large  number  of  persons 
had  taken  violent  colds,  and  the  frogs  preserved  a  dis 
creet  silence.  Asa  Parsons  wore  not  only  his  over 
coat  to  town-meeting,  but  a  woolen  comforter  round 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  49 

his  throat  as  well ;  and  he  sneezed  from  time  to  time, 
angrily,  as  if  it  were  a  note  of  disapproval  and  con 
tempt.  There  was  a  grand  quarrel  over  the  laying 
out  of  a  new  piece  of  road,  and  it  was  at  first  found 
very  difficult  to  choose  the  town  officers.  There  was 
a  monotonous  repetition  of  polling  the  house,  and 
when  Ezra  Allen  lost,  at  last,  the  coveted  position  of 
selectman,  he  had  become  so  angry  with  some  of  his 
opponents,  and  so  tired  with  the  noisy  war,  that  the 
glory  of  the  occasion  was  very  much  tarnished.  It 
was  over  at  four  o'clock,  and  nobody  had  had  any 
dinner,  except  a  slight  refreshment  of  wilted  russet 
apples  and  very  watery  and  sour  cider,  which  could 
be  bought  at  abominable  prices  over  the  tailboard  of 
one  of  the  wagons  which  were  fastened  in  long  rows 
to  the  fences  near  the  old  meeting-house,  which  had 
been  given  over  to  governmental  purposes. 

Aaron  Nudd  was  by  no  means  a  favorite  among 
his  townsfolk.  He  was  very  stingy,  and  had  saved 
considerable  money,  for  which  it  was  supposed  Se 
rena  Jenkins  had  married  him.  He  was  of  the  oppo 
site  party  in  politics  to  Ezra  Allen,  and  he  had  been 
the  opposing  and  successful  candidate  for  the  office 
which  Ezra  had  lost.  Aaron's  wagon  was  next  but 
one,  and  the  two  men  unfastened  their  horses  sulkily, 
without  looking  at  each  other.  Ezra  went  home  pre- 
4 


50  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

pared  to  believe  any  report  of  cruelty  or  injustice  on 
the  part  of  his  uncle's  children,  and  full  of  the  inten 
tion  to  tell  the  story  of  their  trickery  in  his  own 
household.  But  he  was  not  even  to  have  this  pleas 
ure  on  that  unlucky  day.  His  wife  asked  him  re 
proachfully,  as  he  entered,  why  he  had  said  nothing 
of  what  everybody  had  been  talking  about  who  went 
by  the  house,  and  which  would  have  been  no  story  at 
all  without  his  own  report  (already  much  magnified) 
of  the  meanness  and  knavery  of  Serena  Nudd. 

The  next  morning  Ezra  resumed  his  business  of 
wheelwright,  from  which  he  had  taken  a  two  days' 
vacation  ;  but  the  excitement  had  been  a  good  deal 
of  a  strain  upon  him,  and  he  worked  without  much 
enthusiasm  for  a  few  hours,  and  about  eleven  o'clock 
laid  down  his  tools  altogether.  The  spoke-shave  was 
so  dull  that  it  needed  grinding,  and  there  was  nobody 
to  turn  the  grindstone,  and  his  head  ached  a  little. 
He  did  not  feel  inclined  to  start  out  upon  a  new  piece 
of  work,  and,  taking  a  disgusted  look  around  the  shop 
at  the  disjointed  limbs  of  various  old  and  new  vehicles, 
he  threw  off  his  apron,  and  went  to  the  house,  which 
was  only  a  few  rods  distant  along  the  road.  Outside 
the  shop  door  were  stacked  some  dozens  of  wheels 
in  various  stages  of  decay  and  decrepitude,  and  two 
or  three  old  wagon-bodies  and  chaise-tops  were  rest- 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  51 

ing  on  the  ground  in  most  forlorn  condition,  as  if 
they  had  been  relentlessly  exposed  to  all  the  winter 
weather.  The  wood-work  of  one  new  farm  cart  was 
set  up  on  trestles,  and  had  received  its  first  coat  of 
paint ;  but  that  was  the  only  sign  of  any  progress  of 
the  art  that  was  carried  on  within.  One  would  think, 
from  the  outward  appearance  of  a  wheelwright's  shop, 
that  it  was  also  a  repository  of  worn-out  carriages  of 
every  description.  The  trade  is  apparently  never 
carried  on  without  much  useless  rubbish,  unless  one 
may  venture  the  suggestion  that  it  is  necessary  to 
have  a  collection  of  specimens  showing  the  advances 
and  effects  of  various  diseases  of  wheels,  as  surgeons 
are  furnished  forth  with  anatomical  cabinets.  On  the 
seat  of  an  old  wagon  there  was  perched  a  large  rag 
doll,  and  when  Ezra  saw  it  he  smiled,  for  the  first 
time  that  morning.  He  was  very  fond  of  his  little 
girl,  to  whom  the  doll  belonged. 

He  pushed  open  the  kitchen  door  with  some  faint 
thrills  of  pleasure,  for  a  great  whiff  of  a  well-known 
odor  blew  out  through  the  half-opened  window  which 
he  had  just  passed.  His  wife  was  frying  doughnuts, 
and  he  did  not  notice  at  first,  for  the  smoke  and 
steam  obscured  the  atmosphere,  that  some  one  was 
sitting  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"Just  in  time,  ain't  I?"  said  Ezra,  cheerfully; 


52  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

then,  to  his  great  disgust  and  confusion,  he  saw  that 
the  guest  was  his  cousin.  "  Is  that  you,  Sereny  ?  " 
he  asked,  in  quite  another  tone. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Nudd,  snappishly,  "  and  I 
should  think  you  "d  be  ashamed  to  look  me  in  the 
face,  Ezra  Allen.  You  Ve  been  and  done  the  best 
you  could  to  take  away  my  good  name,  and  I  don't 
see  what  harm  I  ever  done  you  nor  yours ; "  and  she 
began  to  cry  in  a  most  obnoxious  fashion. 

Ezra  gave  himself  an  angry  twitch  and  went  over 
to  the  window,  where  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
company,  and  looked  longingly  at  the  safe  harbor  of 
the  shop  which  he  had  just  left.  His  wife,  who  was 
a  fearful  soul  and  who  hated  a  quarrel,  escaped  with 
her  colander  full  of  doughnuts  to  the  recesses  of  the 
pantry,  from  whence  she  stole  a  glance  now  and 
then  at  the  others,  like  a  distressed  mouse  which  had 
doubts  about  venturing  out  of  its  hole.  Mrs.  Nudd 
sniffed  and  sobbed,  and  wiped  her  not  very  wet  eyes 
with  her  handkerchief  again  and  again  ;  but  still 
Ezra  did  not  speak,  and  nothing  could  be  more  ag 
gravating. 

"  Enoch  Foster  said,  this  morning,"  she  remarked, 
in  a  broken  voice,  "  that  he  supposed  you  was  put 
out  about  the  election,  and  Aaron's  getting  in  ahead 
of  you.  But  I  wa'n't  going  to  hear  my  own  first 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  53 

cousin  spoken  of  no  such  way,  and  I  said  that  you 
hadn't  nothing  to  do  with  it;  you  was  too  straightfor'- 
ard  a  man.  I  knew  you  was  hasty  to  speak,  but  there 
never  was  nothing  mean  about  you,  with  all  your 
faults ;  and  I  explained  it  as  best  I  could,  for  I  'm 
sure  I  don't  know  no  other  reason.  Poor  old  father's 
mind  is  broke  more  than  folks  think  who  conies  in 
and  sees  him  for  a  visit ;  and  he  's  got  set  upon  our 
having  got  away  his  property  from  him.  'T  was  all  his 
own  set-out  to  deed  it  to  us  now  in  his  life-time.  He 
got  kind  of  worried  and  confused  a  spell  ago,  and 
seemed  to  want  to  be  rid  of  the  care  of  it;  and  we 
made  the  change  to  gratify  him.  Aaron  said  he 
would  n't  have  no  such  goings-on,  and  that  he  did  n't 
want  the  farm  nohow.  He  's  been  desiring  for  a  long 
spell  to  move  to  Harlow's  Mills  and  go  into  the  shoe 
factory  ;  he  could  have  had  a  first-rate  chance  any 
time  in  the  boxing  room,  but  we  seemed  to  be  pinned 
right  down  where  we  was,  on  father's  account." 

O  ' 

"  You  need  n't  have  drove  off  Parker,  then," 
grumbled  Ezra;  but  though  Mrs.  Allen  heard  him 
in  the  pantry,  and  shook  for  fear,  Mrs.  Nudd  went 
on  complacently :  — 

"  I  'm  sure  we  've  always  done  the  best  we  could 
by  our  folks,  and  by  the  neighbors.  We  ain't  had 
the  means  to  be  free-handed,  for  we  never  knew  what 


54  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

was  our  own  and  what  was  n't.  One  day  father  'd 
be  real  arbitrary,  and  gather  up  whatever  there 
was,  even  the  butter  money,  that  anybody  'd  think  I 
might  have  a  right  to ;  and  next  thing,  he  would  n't 
want  to  be  consulted  about  anything.  Aaron  went 
to  him  one  day  about  a  bunch  o'  laths,  when  he  was 
going  to  alter  the  hen-coop,  and  father  give  it  to  him 
right  an'  left,  because  he  bothered  him  about  it.  He 
refused  him  the  money,  and  said  Aaron  had  made 
enough  off  from  the  place,  and  he  should  think  lie 
might  attend  to  a  job  of  that  size  himself." 

Ezra  gave  a  sympathetic  chuckle,  and  his  cousin 
wished  she  had  left  out  this  illustration.  "  I  only 
spoke  of  it  because  some  days  father  would  have 
grieved  hisself  to  death  if  he  had  n't  been  told  some 
thing  that  was  half  the  importance,"  she  explained, 
in  a  higher  key  than  ever.  "If  you  had  to  summer 
and  winter  him  I  guess  you  'd  find  out.  He  ain't  so 
easy-going  and  pleasant  as  folks  seem  to  think.  I 
know  it  ain't  right  to  talk  so  about  my  own  father, 
that 's  failed  from  what  he  used  to  be,  but  I  Ve  got 
to  stand  up  for  myself,  if  my  own  relations  won't 
stand  up  for  me  ;  "  and  at  this  point  she  cried  again, 
more  sorrowfully  than  before.  "  I  do  have  a  hard 
time,"  she  said,  in  conclusion :  "  father  to  please ;  and 
Mary  Lyddy  a-dwellin'  on  her  trials,  and  tellin'  her 


A   LANDLESS  &ARMER.  55 

complaints,  and  waritiii'  to  borrow  everything  I  've 
got ;  and  Aaron  a-fussin'  and  discontented,  and  talk 
ing  about  going  West ;  and  Parker,  he  spent  about 
all  the  ready  money  he  could  tease  out  of  father.  I 
wonder  the  place  ain't  all  mortgaged,  and  I  dare  say 
we  shall  find  it  is.  Some  days,  I  wish  I  was  laid  in 
my  grave,  for  I  sha'n't  get  no  rest  this  side  of  it." 

Ezra's  wife,  in"  the  pantry,  was  ready  to  cry,  also, 
by  the  time  she  heard  the  end  of  this  touching  appeal, 
and  she  did  not  see  how  her  husband  could  be  so 
stony-hearted.  She  wished  he  -would  say  something, 
and  knocked  two  pans  together  for  a  signal,  and  then 
was  dreadfully  shocked  by  what  she  had  done.  She 
was  not  very  fond  of  Serena  Nudd,  and  could  talk 
angrily  about  her,  behind  her  back,  at  any  time ;  but 
beinsr  a  weak  little  soul,  and  anxious  to  avoid  con- 

o  ' 

tention,  when  there  was  any  danger  of  getting  a  blow 
herself,  she  was  ready,  being  also  a  woman,  to  take 
her  complaining  visitor's  part. 

But  Ezra  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the 

o 

other,  and  fumbled  a  button  which  was  at  the  back 
of  his  collar,  and  which,  at  that  opportune  moment, 
came  off  and  dropped  on  the  floor.  "  I  guess  you  '11 
have  to  set  a  stitch  in  this,  if  you  will,  Susan,"  he 
said,  with  well-feigned  indifference  ;  and  Susan  came 
obediently  out  from  among  the  pots  and  pans,  very 


56  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

shamefaced  and  meek.  The  button  had  rolled  almost 
to  Mrs.  Nudd's  feet,  and  when  Ezra  looked  for  it  un 
successfully,  she  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  and  handed 
it  to  his  wife  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and  then  rose  to  take 
leave. 

"I  shall  be  ready  any  time  to  watch  with  the  old 
gentleman,  if  he  needs  it,  or  even  thinks  he  does," 
remarked  Ezra,  as  if  he  had  heard  nothing  of  what 
his  cousin  Serena  had  said ;  and  she  did  not  know 
how  to  answer  him,  though  usually  she  was  equal  to 
the  occasion.  She  went  away  in  doubt  whether  she 
had  won  a  great  victory,  or  had  been  defeated ;  and 
she  took  the  plate  of  doughnuts  which  Susan  humbly 
offered  in  the  old  gentleman's  behalf,  hardly  knowing 
what  it  was,  she  felt  so  unlike  herself,  all  of  a  sudden. 
But  she  "  came  to  "  before  she  was  out  of  sight  of  the 
house,  and  though  she  hated  Ezra  worse  than  ever, 
she  ate  one  of  the  doughnuts  with  uncommon  relish, 
and  put  another  in  her  pocket. 

The  spring  days  lengthened  and  grew  into  sum 
mer,  and  the  excitement  which  attended  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  transfer  of  old  Mr.  Jenkins's  property 
died  slowly  away.  He  looked  so  wilted  and  changed 
by  his  illness  of  the  winter  that  it  was  by  no  means 
difficult  for  the  town's-people  to  believe  that  his  mind 
had  become  as  much  enfeebled  as  his  body.  As  for 


A  LANDLESS-FARMER.  57 

his  nearest  neighbors,  they  saw  him  rarely,  for  he 
was  too  lame  to  make  the  short  journey  to  their 
houses ;  and  in  the  early  summer  business  of  the 
farms  nobody  found  much  time  to  go  visiting  Serena 
Nudd  or  her  most  unpopular  husband.  He  was  a 
sly  looking,  faded-out  little  man,  of  no  attractions, 
and  a  sneaking  manner  which  disgusted  the  persons 
he  sought  most  eagerly  to  please.  It  had  been 
thought  that  he  would  favor  some  projects  about  the 
new  road,  which  he  frowned  upon  directly  he  was  in 
office  ;  and  that  angered  the  parties  who  were  most 
concerned,  and  there  grew  steadily  a  feeling  of  shame 
and  regret  that  he  should  have  won  so  easily  his 
prominent  position  in  town  affairs.  He  paid  the 
taxes  on  the  farm  with  unusual  promptness,  and  the 
treasurer  took  notice  that  he  had  crossed  out  Mr. 
Jenkins's  name  from  the  tax-bill  and  inserted  his  own 
in  its  place.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  sympathy 
felt  for  the  old  man,  because  he  had  not  deserved 
such  a  miserable  son-in-law.  People  hoped  that  he 
was  treated  well,  but  it  was  taken  for  granted,  in 
those  few  weeks,  that  the  poor  old  farmer  was  fast 
breaking  up,  and,  under  the  circumstances,  nobody 
could  wish  him  to  live  long,  since  it  would  only  in 
volve  the  greater  discomforts  of  old  age,  and  a  con 
tinued  suffering  of  one  sort  and  another.  As  for  his 


58  A  LANDLESS   FARMER. 

daughter  Serena,  she  was  making  great  bids  for 
friendship,  and  was  showing  herself  both  generous 
and  neighborly,  in  a  way  that  much  surprised  her 
acquaintances.  She  spoke  with  great  concern  of  her 
father's  failing  health,  and  some  persons  began  to  say 
she  was  good-hearted,  and  what  a  pity  it  was  that  she 
should  have  thrown  herself  away  on  such  a  man  as 
Aaron  Nudd.  She  drove  old  Mr.  Jenkins  to  church 
one  hot  Sunday,  when  Aaron  was  reported  to  be 
kept  at  home  by  the  expected  swarming  from  a  hive 
of  bees  ;  and  it  was  certainly  very  kind,  the  way  in 
which  she  helped  him  down  out  of  the  high  wagon, 
and  along  the  broad  aisle  to  his  pew.  He  looked 
round  the  church  as  pleased  as  a  child,  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  unusual  opportunity  of  being  among  his 
friends  and  neighbors.  The  older  people  watched 
him  affectionately,  —  he  was  younger  than  several 
who  were  there,  —  and  many  of  the  younger  mem 
bers  of  the  congregation  expected  him  to  betray  in 
some  way  his  shattered  wits.  But  he  seemed  to  be 
in  full  possession  of  his  faculties  as  far  as  any  one 
could  decide  at  that  time  ;  and  when  Serena  ostenta 
tiously  found  his  place  in  a  hymn-book,  and  offered 
it  to  him,  he  shook  his  head  at  her  in  great  perplex 
ity,  and  proceeded  to  search  for  the  right  page  in  his 
own  copy  of  Watts'  and  Select  Hymns,  which  was 


A  LANDLESS  EslRMER.  59 


of  large  type,  and  for  years  had  been  ready  to  his 
hand  in  the  corner  of  the  pew.  u  I  'm  all  right,  if  it 
was  n't  for  my  lameness,"  he  told  a  half  dozen  of  the 
friends  who  crowded  about  him.  "  I  can  get  about  a 
good  deal  better  than  the  folks  think  I  can,  too  ;  but 
Sereny  keeps  right  after  me,"  he  added,  in  a  lower 
voice  to  Ezra  Allen,  who  had  been  more  pleased  than 
anybody  to  see  his  uncle  in  his  accustomed  seat,  and 
who  indulged  a  hope  that  now  he  was  about  again  he 
would  take  things  into  his  own  hands.  But  the  poor 
man  stumbled  on  the  meeting-house  steps  that  very 
Sunday,  and  gave  himself  a  bad  strain,  and  passed 
many  a  long  and  lonely  day  afterward  in  his  dark, 
close  bedroom,  in  that  summer  weather.  Out-of- 
doors  the  birds  sang,  and  the  grass  grew  and  grew, 
until  it  waved  in  the  wind  and  was  furrowed  like  the 
sea.  The  old  farmer  worried  and  fretted  about  the 
crops,  and  could  not  imagine  how  the  fields  got  on 
without  his  oversight  and  care.  He  was  always  call 
ing  Aaron,  or  the  man  who  had  been  engaged  to  help 
him,  and  demanding  strict  account  of  the  potatoes 
and  corn  and  beans.  He  had  worked  day  in  and  day 
out  on  his  land,  until  that  summer,  and  he  was  sure 
everything  must  be  going  to  wreck  and  ruin  without 
him.  Aaron  evaded  some  of  his  questions,  he 
thought,  and  treated  him  like  a  child.  If  it  had  not 


60  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

been  for  his  lameness,  he  would  have  risen  in  wrath 
from  his  bed,  and  have  dispersed  the  whole  family 
like  marauding  chickens.  Even  Ezra  Allen  was  not 
attentive,  and  this  was  hard  to  understand,  though 
the  frequent  breaking  of  farm  tools  and  the  wear  and 
tear  of  the  vehicles  of  the  town  gave  him  more  than 
enough  to  do,  while  he  had  his  own  farming  to  look 
after  beside. 

Serena  grew  less  and  less  amiable,  but  she  was  what 
she  and  her  neighbors  called  a  regular  driver,  and 
she  had  a  hard  fight  to  get  through  with  her  every 
day  work.  If  her  father  demanded  a  long  explana 
tion  of  the  reasons  that  had  led  to  the  selling  of  a 
cow,  she  was  by  no  means  ready  to  satisfy  him,  and 
to  stop  in  the  midst  of  everything  to  answer  his  rest 
less,  eager  questions  by  quieting  accounts  of  the  cir 
cumstances  ;  and  as  for  the  man  who  had  come  sev 
eral  times  to  make  the  bargain,  he  was  kept  out  of 
the  old  farmer's  hearing  altogether.  At  last,  in  a 
desperate  moment,  Mr.  Jenkins,  like  a  distressed 
New  England  Lear,  said  that  as  soon  as  he  was  well 
enough  he  should  go  to  stay  for  a  while  with  his 
other  daughter ;  for  Mary  Lyddy  was  always  civil 
spoken  to  him,  and  was  always  pleased  to  see  him, 
if  other  people  were  not.  "It  will  be  a  first-rate 
thing  to  get  rid  of  him  through  haying,"  Serena 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  61 

told  her  lord  and  master  that  night.  "  I'm  thankful 
it  was  his  own  proposal ;  "  and  then  they  talked  over 
the  question  of  her  father's  prompt  removal  to  an 
other  scene  of  uselessness. 

The  next  morning  but  one,  Serena  put  her  head 
inside  the  old  man's  door,  and  said  she  guessed  he 
had  better  get  out  into  the  fresh  air  that  day.  Aaron 
was  coming  right  in  to  help  him.  This  was  good 
news,  for  Mr.  Jenkins  had  urged  his  daughter  to  be 
lieve  that  there  was  no  need  of  his  lying  in  bed  any 
longer,  while  she  had  insisted  that  she  was  following 
the  doctor's  orders,  and  that  if  he  stirred  before  the 
proper  time  he  would  only  bring  fresh  disasters  upon 
himself  and  his  family.  He  found  himself  weak  and 
stiff  when  he  tried  to  move  about,  but  such  was  his 
delight  at  being  again  his  own  master  that  he  soon 
felt  uncommonly  strong  and  energetic,  and  sat  down 
at  the  breakfast-table  in  the  kitchen  with  a  look  of 
proud  satisfaction. 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  in  first-rate  trim  for  haying,"  he 
announced  gravely.  Aaron  had  swallowed  his  break 
fast  as  nearly  whole  as  possible,  and  had  departed ; 
and  Serena  was  already  clattering  at  the  dishes. 

"  This  is  prime  corn-cake,"  said  the  farmer.  "  I 
declare,  Sereny,  it  tastes  like  it  used  to,  —  just  like 
what  your  mother  used  to  make." 


62  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

"  It  always  tastes  alike  to  me,"  responded  Mrs. 
Nudd,  in  a  not  unkindly  tone.  "  You  're  getting  to 
be  notional."  Serena  was  not  celebrated  for  her 
skill  in  cookery,  and  this  compliment  had  touched  her 
tenderly. 

"  Ain't  it  a  good  while  since  we  have  had  a  nice 

o 

cabbage  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jenkins,  presently.  "  I  sup 
pose,  though,  they  're  about  gone.  I  declare,  how 
the  weeks  fly  by !  It  don't  seem  but  a  fortnight 
since  we  were  getting  'em  in,  in  the  fall  of  the  year." 

"  For  mercy  sake  !  "  said  Serena.  "  I  believe  you 
are  losing  your  faculties !  The  idea  of  cabbages 
keeping  through  haying !  You  might  as  well  wish 
for  some  of  the  Thanksgiving  pies.  There  !  I  do 
the  best  I  can  to  suit  you,  but  it  's  hard  for  one  pair 
o'  hands  to  do  everything.  I  did  expect  to  have  help 
in  haying  time,  but  Aaron  says  he  can't  afford  it, 
now  he  's  got  the  whole  farm  to  lug." 

"  He  's  got  the  whole  farm  to  help  him,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  blazing  up  into  something 
like  his  youthful  spirit.  "  He  was  always  crying 
poor,  and  wheedling  round,  and  you  was,  too,  till  you 
got  the  farm,  and  now  you  're  worse  off  than  you 
was  before.  I  've  always  made  an  honest  living,  and 
stood  well  in  the  town,  and  I  've  brought  up  my  chil 
dren,  and  kept  my  fences  and  buildings  in  good  order. 


A  LANDLESS   FARMER.  63 

I  won't  have  such  talk  from  you  nor  Aaron  Nudd 
neither."  But  Serena  had  flown,  and  the  old  man 
might  have  relieved  his  mind  by  more  just  accusa 
tions  without  causing  trouble,  for  there  was  nobody 
within  hearing.  The  kitchen  was  hot,  and  the  late 
June  light  was  flaring  in  at  the  windows  and  door ; 
it  promised  to  be  a  very  hot  day.  Mr.  Jenkins  felt 
a  little  tired  and  weak ;  he  wished  he  had  not  said  so 
much,  and  told  himself  again  the  familiar  and  unwel 
come  truth  that  he  had  had  his  day.  He  looked  about 
the  room,  which  did  not  seem  natural,  for  some  rea 
son  or  other.  "  Sereny  !  "  he  suddenly  shouted. 
"  What 's  become  of  my  chist  o'  drawers,  —  my 
desk  ?  My  papers  is  all  in  it.  I  hope  you  have  n't 
got  them  into  a  mess ; "  and  he  looked  around  him 
again,  puzzled  and  miserable.  There  was  a  noise  of 
the  pounding  and  creaking  caused  by  a  rolling-pin  in 
the  great  pantry,  and  presently  Serena  said  that  he 
used  it  very  little,  and  it  was  considerably  in  the 
way,  and  an  old  furniture  dealer  had  come  along  and 
offered  a  good  price  for  it,  and  she  had  sold  it.  She 
needed  a  new  sewing-machine,  and  she  didn't  sup 
pose  he  would  care.  She  always  wanted  that  place 
for  her  sewing-machine,  right  between  the  windows, 
where  there  was  a  good  light. 

"  I  am  going  to  learn  you  that  I  won't  be  pulled 


64  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

about  by  the  nose  in  this  way  another  day ; "  and 
Mr.  Jenkins's  daughter  did  not  remember  that  she 
had  ever  seen  her  father  in  such  a  rage  before.  "  You 
can  tell  Aaron  to  hunt  up  that  man,  and  get  my  piece 
o'  furniture  back ;  't  was  my  father's  before  me,  and 
it  has  stood  in  this  kitchen  a  hundred  years.  I  don't 
care  what  you  want,  nor  what  you  don't  want,  nor 
nothing  about  your  sewing-machine.  You  just  go 
and  get  that  secretary  back,  or  it  '11  be  the  worse  for 
you.  I  don't  see  as  you  've  any  call  to  act  as  if  I 
was  dead,  right  before  my  face.  It 's  a  hard  thing  for 
a  man  o'  my  years  to  see  another  master  over  his  own 
house,  and  live  to  see  himself  forgotten  ; "  and  the 
poor  old  creature,  whose  pleasure  at  being  about  the 
house  again  was  so  cruelly  spoiled,  shook  with  anger, 
and  meant  to  walk  out-of-door  indignantly  ;  but  his 
strength  suddenly  failed,  and  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  again.  Serena  had  nothing  further  to  say,  and 
the  knocking  and  rolling  still  continued.  She  was 
making  a  tough  company  of  dried-apple  pies  for  the 
family  sustenance  in  the  haying  season.  The  kitchen 
looked  strangely  empty  without  its  one  handsome 
and  heavy  piece  of  furniture,  whose  dark  wood  and 
great  dull  brass  handles  had  somehow  given  a  nobler 
character  to  the  room,  which  was  the  usual  gathering 
place  of  the  family.  In  Serena's  mother's  day  the 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  65 

bat-handles  had  always  been  well  polished,  and  had 
many  an  evening  reflected  the  brightness  of  the  roar 
ing  great  chimney-place  fire.  A  little  later  in  the 
morning,  the  farmer  asked  his  daughter  to  fetch  him 
the  papers  which  had  been  kept  carefully  in  the 
quaint  corners  and  pigeon-holes.  She  feared  to  dis 
obey,  and  for  hours  the  old  man  set  drearily  unfold 
ing  and  poring  over  the  small  basketful  of  worn 
papers  which  held  his  history  and  his  few  business 
records.  There  was  a  curl  which  his  wife  had  cut 
from  the  head  of  their  little  child  who  had  died,  and 
there  was  a  piece  of  the  Charter  Oak  at  Hartford, 
and  a  bit  of  California  gold  that  his  brother  had  sent 
home  in  the  early  days  of  the  gold-diggings  stored 
away  with  the  rest,  —  the  old  man's  few  treasures 
and  playthings.  They  were  huddled  together  in  mis 
erable  confusion,  though  he  had  always  known  where 
to  put  his  hand  on  each  when  they  were  in  their  places. 


II. 

SERENA'S  not  very  tender  heart  was  somewhat 
touched  at  last,  and  she  noticed  how  worn  and  old 
her  father  looked,  and  wished  she  had  not  sold  the 
secretary  without  speaking  to  him  about  it  first. 
She  thought  it  was  no  time  then  to  say  what  a  good 
5 


66  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

price  she  had  wrung  out  of  the  man  who  had  made 
the  purchase,  and  at  any  rate  her  father  might  insist 
upon  putting  the  money  in  his  own  pocket.  She  was 
unusually  good-natured  all  that  day,  and  even  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him  about 
the  house  again.  She  was  a  good  deal  of  a  coward, 
as  all  tyrants  and  bullies  are  apt  to  be ;  and  she  be 
gan  to  be  a  little  afraid,  when  her  father's  weakness 
and  dependency  seemed  to  have  been  replaced  by  a 
sullen  indifference  to  both  her  words  and  actions 
when  she  came  near,  and  a  look  of  wounded  disap 
proval  when  she  left  him  to  himself. 

The  next  morning  he  said  that  he  wanted  some 
one  to  go  over  to  Mary  Lyddy's  with  him,  and  bring 
the  horse  home.  Somehow,  Serena  felt  a  shameful 
sense  of  guilt  and  almost  of  repentance,  as  she  stood 
in  the  kitchen  door  and  watched  her  father  drive 
away.  It  seemed  as  if  he  might  have  started  of  his 
own  accord  upon  a  journey  from  whence  there  could 
be  no  return.  He  did  not  turn  his  head  after  the  horse 
had  started ;  he  had  not  even  said  good-by.  There 
was  a  small  trunk  in  the  back  of  the  wagon,  an  odd, 
ancient  thing,  studded  with  many  nails  and  covered 
with  moth-devoured  leather ;  one  might  believe  it 
had  attained  a  great  age  before  starting  on  this  first 
journey,  it  looked  so  unused  to  travel  and  so  garret- 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  67 

like.  Into  it,  very  early  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Jenkins 
had  packed  some  of  his  few  personal  possessions,  and 
his  daughter  looked  at  it  again  and  again  with  suspi 
cious  eyes.  "  I  declare,  it 's  a  dreadful  thing  to  get  to 
be  old  and  past  our  usefulness,"  she  said.  "  Who  would 
have  thought  that  father  would  have  turned  against 
me  so,  just  for  selling  an  old,  out-o'-fashion  chist  o* 
drawers,  after  the  way  I  've  tended  and  nursed  him, 
and  mended  him  up  and  waited  upon  him  by  inches  ? 
Well,  it  's  the  way  of  the  world ! "  And  after  these 
reflections,  the  rattling  wagon  and  plodding  horse 
and  the  stern,  upright  figure  of  the  aggrieved  old  man 
having  passed  out  of  sight  over  the  brow  of  a  hill 
which  rose  beyond  the  house,  she  turned  back  into 
the  kitchen  again.  "  Father  used  to  be  a  dreadful 
easy-going  man,"  she  said  to  herself,  later.  "  I  won 
der  how  long  he  and  Mary  Lyddy  will  hitch  their 
horses  together.  But  I  'most  wish  I  had  n't  let  the 

o 

secr'tary  go  without  consulting  him.  I  suppose 
9t  was  his  right.  I  '11  let  him  stay  a  spell  over  to  the 
Mills,  and  he  '11  be  sure  to  get  over  his  huff,  and  be 
homesick  and  wore  out  with  Mary  Lyddy's  ram 
shackle  ways,  and  I  '11  go  over,  just 's  if  nothing  had 
happened,  and  fetch  him  home." 

Harlow's  Mills  was  an  unattractive  village,  which 
had  grown  up  suddenly,  a  few  years  before,  around 


68  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

some  small  manufactories.  Mrs.  Bryan's  husband 
had  been  a  very  successful,  industrious  man,  and  it 
had  been  thought  a  most  lucky  thing  for  her  when 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  pretty  face,  without 
waiting  to  see  what  sort  of  character  lay  behind  it. 
He  had  done  well  in  his  business,  and  kept  every 
thing  straight  at  home  as  long  as  he  had  lived  ;  but 
when  he  died  of  fever,  at  the  prime  of  his  life,  he 
had  saved  only  a  small  property,  and  his  inefficient 
wife  was  left  to  fight  her  way  alone.  She  surren 
dered  ignominiously,  and  had  been  tugged  along  the 
path  of  life  by  her  friends  and  relatives,  who  grudged 
even  their  sympathy  more  and  more.  "  When  you've 
lugged  folks  one  mile,  you  like  to  see  'em  try  to  go 
the  next  themselves,  —  not  sit  right  down  in  the 
road,"  Serena  Nudd  had  said  more  than  once,  and  not 
without  reason.  Poor  Mary  Lydia  had  sheltered  her 
laziness  behind  various  chronic  illnesses,  which  had 
excused  her  from  active  participation  in  the  world's 
affairs  ;  though  when  anything  was  going  forward 
in  which  she  cared,  for  any  reason,  to  join,  it  had 
often  been  noticed  that  she  would  step  forward  with 
the  best.  A  funeral  had  such  attractions  for  her 
that  nothing  short  of  her  own  death-bed  would  divert 
her  attention  or  keep  her  at  home.  She  had  vast  re 
serves  of  strength  and  will,  but  she  passed  most  of 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  69 

her  time  in  an  unstrung,  complaining  state.  Her 
house  was  forlorn,  and  her  boys  had  grown  used  to 
her  feeble  protests  and  appeals,  and  rarely  took  much 
notice  of  what  she  said  except  to  escape  from  the 
whining  and  scolding  as  soon  as  they  could.  There 
was  a  good  deal  in  her  life  which  was  pitiable,  but 
still  more  for  which  one  might  blame  her  ;  and  it  was 
her  comfortless  house,  with  its  dreary,  shaded,  un 
fruitful  bit  of  land,  to  which  the  once  busy  old 
farmer  had  fled  for  refuge.  The  maple-trees  that 
Henry  Bryan  had  planted  had  grown  too  luxuriantly 
in  that  damp  place,  and  the  grass  underneath  was  all 
in  coarse  tufts,  mixed  with  a  rank  growth  of  plantain 
leaves,  beside  a  fine  nursery  of  young  burdocks  which 
that  summer  had  started  up  unheeded  in  a  corner. 

Mr.  Jenkins  felt  more  and  more  saddened  and  dis 
turbed  all  the  way,  and  the  drive  to  the  Mills  seemed 
very  long  and  hot.  He  had  little  to  say  to  his  com 
panion,  though  he  sometimes  commented  upon  the 
different  fields  and  pastures  that  skirted  the  roads. 
One  neighbor's  potatoes  and  another's  corn  looked 
strong  and  flourishing  ;  he  took  note  of  them  with 
wistfulness.  "  I  'm  done,  —  I  'm  done,"  he  said  once 
or  twice,  half  to  himself.  He  stopped,  at  last,  at  his 
daughter's  door,  and  while  his  companion  took  the 


70  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

little  trunk  down  from  the  wagon,  he  went  in  search 
of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  There  was  a  strong 
odor  of  camphor  in  the  darkened,  close  front  room, 
and  a  voice  asked  feebly  who  was  there. 

"  I  've  come  to  stop  with  you  for  a  spell,"  answered 
the  old  man.  "  I  have  been  laid  up,  and  not  good  for 
much  of  anything  ;  and  Sereny,  she  carried  too  many 
guns  for  me,  and  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  like 
to  have  comp'ny."  There  was  a  pathetic  attempt  at 
joking  which  would  have  touched  the  heart  of  a  stone, 
and  Mary  Lyddy  was  quick  to  catch  at  this  advan 
tage  over  her  sister,  and  rose  slowly  from  her  couch. 
The  old  man's  eyes  were  blinded  at  coming  into  this 
darkness  from  the  glare  of  sunlight  without,  and  he 
could  not  see  a  yard  before  him.  He  already  felt 
homesick,  and  would  have  given  anything  if  he  had 
not  brought  the  trunk,  which  was  just  now  set  down 
on  one  end,  heavily,  in  the  entry  just  behind  him. 

"  I  'm  real  pleased  to  see  you,  though  I  wish  you 
had  come  last  week,  when  I  could  have  enjoyed  you 
more.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  been  so  well  in 
health  as  I  was  last  week,  but  to-day  I  am  so  troubled 
with  neurology  in  my  head  that  I  can  hardly  live.  I 
do'  know  what  there  is  for  dinner.  I  told  the  boys 
they  must  pick  up  a  lunch  somehow  or  other,  for 
I  could  n't  go  near  a  stove  ;  the  heat  of  it  would  kill 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  71 

me.  We  will  get  along  somehow,  though,"  she 
added,  more  cheerfully,  suddenly  mindful  of  the  man 
from  the  farm,  and  anxious  that  he  should  not  carry 
back  anything  but  a  good  report  of  her  father's  re 
ception.  "  I  declare,  it  does  me  good  to  see  you  ; " 
and  she  came  forward,  and  gave  her  guest,  unwel 
come  as  he  had  been  the  moment  before,  a  most  af 
fectionate  kiss.  For  all  that,  when  Washington  Tufts 
had  driven  away  down  the  street,  to  do  some  errands 
at  the  stores  for  Sereny  before  he  went  home,  Mr. 
Jenkins  watched  him  sadly  from  the  door,  and  felt  as 
if  he  had  burnt  his  ships  behind  him. 

But  his  daughter  was  very  cheerful  all  that  day, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  in  the  evening  as  if  he  had  done 
the  right  thing.  He  would  not  look  upon  it  as  a  per 
manent  change,  by  any  means  ;  but  what  could  be 
more  likely  than  that,  not  being  quite  fit  for  work, 
he  should  come  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  younger  daugh 
ter  ?  He  imagined  that  everybody  would  wonder  at 
his  being  there,  and  apologized  for  it  elaborately  to 
every  one  who  came  in.  He  received  a  good  deal  of 
attention  for  a  time,  being  well  known  in  his  county 
and  much  respected ;  and  he  had  long  talks  with 
Mrs.  Bryan,  who  dearly  liked  conversation,  and  to 
gether  they  recalled  people  and  events  of  years  be 
fore,  and  the  housewifely  virtues  of  Mrs.  Jenkins, 


72  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

who  had  been  a  busy  and  helpful  soul,  of  better  sense 
and  deeper  affections  than  either  of  her  daughters. 
The  farmer  was  fond  of  saying  "  in  your  mother's 
day,"  when  he  spoke  to  his  children  ;  indeed,  the 
later  years  of  his  life  had  been  a  sad  contrast  to  the 
earlier,  though  he  had  not  felt  the  change  and  loss 
half  so  keenly  until  the  last  few  months,  when  he 
could  no  longer  spend  an  almost  untired  strength  and 
energy  in  the  ceaseless  round  and  routine  of  his  work. 
Serena  Nudd  was  not  over-fond  of  hearing  her  moth 
er's  day  referred  to,  and  resented  the  implied  supe 
riority  to  her  own  ;  but  during  the  first  of  the  visit 
Mary  Lyddy  and  her  father  talked  about  the  good 
woman  to  their  hearts'  content,  and  Mr.  Jenkins  said 
that  it  seemed  more  homelike  than  the  old  place  itself 
ever  did  nowadays.  Serena's  child  was  not  a,  pleas 
ant  boy,  and  he  tired  and  fretted  his  grandfather  in  a 
miserable  way.  The  young  Bryans  kept  their  wrong 
doings  and  laziness  pretty  well  out  of  the  old  man's 
sight,  and  their  mother  forbore  to  harangue  and  scold 
them  in  his  hearing. 

The  novelty  and  mild  excitement  of  the  visit  ap 
peared  to  act  like  a  tonic  upon  Mrs.  Bryan  for  a  time, 
but  at  length  her  nature  began  to  assert  itself,  and 
her  guest  at  the  same  time  began  to  be  restless  and 
uneasy  in  his  new  quarters.  He  made  short  excur- 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  73 

sions  about  the  town,  and  read  the  newspaper  with 
unusual  care ;  but  he  was  not  used  to  seeing  a  daily 
paper,  and  it  was  more  reading  than  he  really  liked 
to  undertake.  One  of  the  neighbors  sent  it  to  him 
every  day,  with  great  kindness  ;  but  though  he  was 
in  many  ways  well  treated,  it  seemed  to  him  more 
and  more  that  he  could  not  bear  any  longer  to  Le 
away  from  home.  He  could  not  help  thinking  and 
worrying  about  the  farm  work  ;  he  did  not  trust 
Aaron  Nudd's  judgment  about  the  management  of 
things,  and  he  watched  the  street  every  day  anx 
iously,  in  hope  of  seeing  Serena  approach  in  quest  of 
him.  He  even  lamented  his  impatience,  and  took  her 
part  against  himself.  But  as  the  days  went  by,  and 
she  did  not  appear,  his  heart  failed  him ;  for  he  had 
not  thought  they  would  have  found  it  so  easy  to  get 
on  without  him.  Shut  up  in  the  hot  and  noisy  little 
village,  and  seeing  every  day  so  many  people  whom 
he  did  not  know,  he  longed  for  the  farm-house  where 
he  had  spent  all  his  life,  and  he  was  homesick  for  the 
wide  outlook  over  the  fields  and  woodlands,  and  felt 
strangely  lost  and  alone  and  old. 

Mary  Lyddy  became  querulous  and  tiresome  ;  it 
would  have  made  a  difference  to  her  if  she  had  had 
hopes  of  gain,  and  her  father  did  not  take  long  to  dis 
cover  that  ho  was  a  burden  to  her  as  well  as  to  Se- 


74  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

rena.  Mrs.  Bryan  had  handed  him  the  bill  for  town 
taxes,  and  he  had  looked  at  her  with  a  grieved  sur 
prise.  "  I  have  n't  got  the  money  to  pay  it,  if  that 's 
what  you  mean,"  he  said  at  length.  "  I  'm  kept  on 
short  commons,  I  tell  you.  Serena  was  dreadful  put 
out,  one  day,  because  the  dealer  that  takes  the  butter 
called  and  paid  his  month's  account,  and  I  wanted 
part  of  it  to  pay  the  minister ;  she  said  Aaron  had 
seen  to  his  and  mine  together,  and  went  grumping 
round  the  kitchen  the  rest  o'  the  morning.  I  told 
her  't  was  the  first  week  since  I  was  out  o'  my  time 
that  I  had  been  without  a  dollar  in  my  pocket.  Aaron 
cut  considerable  of  a  piece  o'  pine  growth  this  last 
winter,  but  I  never  could  find  out  what  become  of  the 
money.  One  time  he  had  n't  got  settled  up,  and  the 
next  time  he  began  to  squeal  about  its  taking  every 
cent  he  could  rake  and  scrape  to  keep  the  farm  above 
water.  He  flung  at  me  about  my  doctor's  bills  once 
or  twice  ;  miscr'ble  farmer  he  is,  any  way.  I  have 
got  a  little  money  they  don't  know  about  in  the  North 
Bank,  and  I  '11  get  you  some  of  it  quick  's  I  get  a 
chance  to  send,  but  I  've  nobody  but  Aaron,  and  I 
never  want  to  say  nothing  to  him  about  it.  I  thought 
I  might  get  into  a  straiter  place  than  any  I  Ve  been 
in,  and  I  've  been  holding  on  to  it.  'T  ain't  much, 
but  it  '11  do  to  bury  me,  if  they  can't  find  the  means." 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  75 

"  There,  don't,  father !  You  make  my  blood  run 
cold,"  said  Mary  Lyddy,  fretfully.  "  I  'm  sure  you 
can't  doubt  but  what  we  shall  do  what  's  proper  for 
you,  dead  or  alive.  I  felt  't  was  a  mistake  all  the 
time  that  you  should  n't  ha'  kept  things  in  your  own 
hands ;  but  Sereny  talked  all  of  us  over  at  the  time, 
and  —  well,  you  should  have  thought  more  about  it 
before  you  did  it,  that  's  all  I  've  got  to  say.  I  shall 
have  to  get  rid  of  this  place,  'less  the  boys  get  to 
earning  something  pretty  soon,  for  it 's  more  'n  I  can 
afford  to  keep.  I  'm  worse  off  than  before  I  owned 
it,  having  nobody  to  help  along.  Everything  would 
have  gone  well  if  poor  Henry  had  only  lived  ;  "  and 
she  began  to  cry  as  if  she  meant  to  give  a  good  deal 
of  time  to  tears,  and  her  father  took  his  hat  and 
walked  drearily  away.  It  was  his  best  hat,  and  he 
often  wished  for  the  old  one,  which  he  had  left  hang 
ing  on  its  nail  at  the  farmhouse. 

He  hoped  that  he  might  see  somebody  from  home, 
and  looked  at  the  wagons  and  teams  as  they  passed 
him ;  until  presently  somebody  hailed  him  with  a 
cheerful  "  Well,  uncle,  you  've  been  and  given  hay 
ing  the  slip  this  year."  When  the  old  man  turned, 
he  found  with  delight  that  it  was  Ezra  Allen,  and  de 
clared  that  he  was  glad  to  see  him.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  had  n't  seen  any  of  the  folks  for  a  month  ;  it  had 


76  A   LANDLESS  FARMER. 

been  the  longest  week  he  had  ever  spent  in  his  life. 
"  Get  in,  won't  ye  ?  "  said  the  nephew,  affectionately. 
"  Why  can't  ye  ride  over  to  Jack  Townsend's  with 
me  ?  I  want  to  see  him  about  doing  a  lot  of  ironing 
for  my  running  work.  I  've  got  three  or  four  wagons 
where  I  can't  go  no  further  with  them  ;  and  Estes  is 
sick,  and  won't  be  able  to  work  at  blacksmi thing  for 
some  weeks.  I  want  to  take  hold  of  these  things 
right  away.  I  'm  about  through  with  what  little  hay 
ing  I  do.  Been  a  good  hay  year  so  far,  has  n't  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  sorrowfully  con 
fessed  the  old  farmer,  climbing  slowly  into  the 
wagon. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  as  quick  as  an  eel  to  what 
you  was  a  month  ago,"  said  Ezra.  "  You  look  about 
as  well  as  ever  you  did ;  good  for  ten  years  yet,  un 
cle  Jerry,"  and  he  started  the  horse  at  a  good  pace. 
There  never  was  a  more  contented  pair  of  relatives  : 
the  younger  man  had  wished  for  just  this  chance  to 
hear  the  particulars  of  the  visit,  and  the  elder  one 
was  only  too  glad  to  fall  in  with  a  sympathetic  com 
panion,  who  had  always  been  kind  to  him,  and  who 
seemed  now  to  have  belonged  to  his  better  days. 

"  How  d'  ye  like  it  over  here  ?  "  inquired  Ezra, 
turning  round  with  a  beaming  smile  to  take  a  good 
look  at  his  uncle. 


A  LANDLESS^FARMER.  77 

"  "Well,  fairly,'*  answered  Mr.  Jenkins,  without  en 
thusiasm.  "  But  old  folks  is  better  off  at  home, 
seems  to  me.  Mary  Lyddy  does  the  best  she  knows 
how ;  but  the  girls  don't  neither  of  'em  take  after 
their  mother,  somehow  or  'nother ;  I  don't  know  why 
it  is.  Sereny  kept  me  feeling  like  a  toad  under  a 
harrow,  and  seems  as  if  I  was  in  the  way,  and  sort 
of  under-foot  to  both  houses.  I  done  just  as  they 
wanted  me  'long  in  the  winter,  and  give  the  reins  into 
their  own  hands  ;  but  they  don't  like  me  none  the 
better  for  it,  nor  so  well,  far 's  I  can  see,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  had  n't  been  accustomed  to 
sickness,  and  when  I  was  so  afflicted  in  the  cold 
weather,  and  got  down  so  low,  I  thought  I  'd  got 
about  through  with  things.  You  know  I  'd  been  ailing 
and  doctoring  -some  months  before  I  had  the  worst 
spell  come  on.  They  never  treated  me  so  clever  as 
they  did  the  time  when  I  was  give  over,  and  old  Dr. 
Banks  said  there  wa'n't  no  help  for  me.  But  I  've 
come  up  considerable,  more  'n  ever  I  expected,  and 
I  've  had  times  of  feeling  just  like  myself,  of  late  ; 
and  I  see  how  the  land  lays,  and  between  you  and 
me,  Ezry,  I  wish  it  was  different.  I  've  had  my  day, 
though,  and  I  don't  want  to  stand  in  the  way  of  no 
body  else's  chance." 

"  Where  's  Parker  ?     Do  you  get  any  news  from 


78  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

him  ?  "  asked  Ezra,  giving  the  horse  a  flick  with  his 
whip,  putting  it  quickly  in  its  socket,  and  taking  a 
firm  hold  of  the  reins.  He  knew  that  his  uncle  was 
fond  of  a  good  horse,  and  he  was  very  proud  of  this 
new  one,  and  wished  it  to  be  noticed  and  praised. 

"  Don't  hurry  the  beast,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  we  've 
got  time  enough,  and  it  kind  of  jars  me,  to  what 
it  used,  to  ride  fast.  When  I  'm  after  a  likely  crea- 
tur',  such  as  this,  that  can  show  a  good  pace,  I  'm 
satisfied.  As  for  Parker,  I  ain't  heard  from  him  for 
hard  on  to  eight  months.  He  was  n't  prompt  about 
writing,  and  I  've  been  wanting  the  girls  to  set  to 
work  and  find  out  about  him.  Serena  goes  into  a 
dreadful  frame  o'  mind  if  I  much  as  mention  his 
name,  and  Mary  Lyddy  's  always  going  to  do  it  the 
next  day.  My  eyesight  's  failed  dreadfully  ;  it 's 
better  'n  it  was,  but  none  too  good.  I  did  scratch 
a  few  lines  twice  or  three  times,  and  send  them  to 
the  last  place  I  knew  him  to  be  in,  and  I  directed 
once  to  the  postmaster ;  but  he  has  made  no  answer 
yet,  so  I  keep  a-hopin'.  Parker  had  his  faults,  and 
perhaps  I  indulged  him  more  than  was  good  for  him, 
but  he  was  more  like  his  mother  'n  any  of  'em.  He 
and  Sereny  never  got  along.  I  don't  s'pose  she 
means  it,  but  she 's  got  a  dreadful  nagging  way.  I 
did  let  him  have  a  good  deal  o'  money,  and  I  don't 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  79 

know  but  it  was  foolish.  Parker 's  got  a  quick  tem 
per,  same 's  his  mother  had,  but  it  ain't  Sereny's  kind. 
She  gnaws  and  picks  all  day  long  about  a  thing  she 
don't  like ;  but  Parker  '11  knock  ye  down  with  one 
hand,  and  pick  ye  right  up  again  with  the  other. 
They  're  always  warnin'  me  that  he  was  on  steady, 
and  a  disgrace  to  his  folks ;  but  I  have  known  many 
a  man  that  has  had  his  fling,  and  settled  down  and 
been  useful  afterwards.  Parker  's  got  good  natural 
ability,  and  I  guess  he  '11  make  his  way  yet  if  he  gets 
the  right  chance." 

"  I  never  could  bear  Aaron  Nudd,  if  I  must  say 
it,"  growled  Ezra.  "He  was  distressin'  himself  the 
other  day  into  Henry  Wallis's  about  being  afraid  all 
the  time  Parker  might  turn  up,  —  poor,  wandering 
vagabone,  he  called  him.  I  'd  knocked  him  down,  if 
I  'd  heard  him.  I  mean  to  see  if  I  can't  find  where 
Parker  is.  There  ain't  a  cousin  I  've  got  that  I  ever 
set  so  much  by,  spite  of  his  leanin'  in  wrong  direc 
tions.  We've  always  been  chums,  spite  of  his  being 
so  much  younger,  —  you  know  it,  don't  ye,  uncle 
Jerry?  And  I've  always  stood  up  for  him;  I'm 
going  to  see  if  he  can't  have  his  rights  if  you  did 
sign  that  paper." 

The  old  man's  voice  faltered  as  he  tried  to  speak. 
"  I  do'  know  where  I  could  ask  him  to,  if  I  did  send 


80  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

for  him  to  come  home  now,"  he  said.  "  If  /  know 
anything  about  a  hoss,  this  one  is  the  best  you  ever 
drove,  Ezry.  Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  Not 
round  here,  I  '11  make  a  guess,"  and  the  conversation 
steered  bravely  out  into  this  most  congenial  subject 
to  both  travelers. 

At  ten  o'clock  that  very  morning  Susan  Allen, 
Ezra's  wife,  was  bending  over  her  ironing-board  and 
bumping  away  with  her  flat-iron,  when  somebody 
suddenly  came  outside  the  window,  and  laid  his  arms 
on  the  sill  and  looked  in.  At  first  he  seemed  to  be 
a  stranger,  and  Susan  was  chilled  from  head  to  foot 
with  fear ;  but  she  stared  and  stared  again  at  the 
smiling  face  before  she  spoke,  and  finally  she  clapped 
her  hands,  and  said,  "  I  '11  give  up  if  it  ain't,  —  Parker 
Jenkins  !  I  want  to  know  if  that 's  you  ?  "  and  this 
question  of  his  identity  having  been  decided,  the 
young  man  strolled  round  to  the  door,  and  came  in  as 
if  he  had  never  been  away. 

"How's  all  the  folks?"  he  asked.  "Where's 
Ezra  ?  I  looked  in  at  the  shop  first,  but  there  was 
nobody  there." 

u  We  did  n't  know  but  you  was  dead,"  said  Susan, 
who  was  much  excited.  "  Your  father  has  been 
dreadful  distressed  about  you.  I  do  think  you  ought 


A  LANDLESS^FARMER.  81 

to  have  wrote  him,  Parker.  But  you  can  make  up 
with  him  easy  enough  ;  he  '11  be  glad  enough  to  see 
you." 

The  visitor  had  looked  very  solemn  as  he  listened 
to  the  first  mention  of  his  father's  name,  but  his  ex 
pression  quickly  changed  to  a  look  of  wild  astonish 
ment.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  father  is  n't  dead  ?  " 
he  said,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  Dead,  no  !  "  answered  Susan.  u  He  had  a  long 
spell  of  sickness,  beginning  in  the  fall  of  the  year, 
and  we  all  supposed  he  was  breaking  up  ;  and  along 
in  the  first  of  the  winter  he  had  a  very  bad  time, 
when  we  give  him  up  for  certain,  and  there  was  two 
days  and  a  night  when  they  thought  he  might  be 
taken  away  any  minute ;  but  he  pulled  through  "  — 

Parker  had  seated  himself  again,  and  did  not  seem 
to  be  listening  to  this  account.  He  had  put  his  head 
on  his  arm  down  upon  the  ironing-board,  and  was 
crying  like  a  child.  Susan  felt  as  if  this  were  a  some 
what  theatrical  performance,  and  a  little  unnecessary. 
She  was  vaguely  reminded  of  his  being  addicted  to 
drink,  and  of  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son  ;  and 
then  she  noticed  how  broad  his  shoulders  had  grown, 
and  that  his  coat  was  made  of  a  beautiful  piece  of 
cloth,  and  that  he  was  quite  citified  in  his  appear 
ance. 

6 


82  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

"  Don't  take  on  so,"  she  begged  him  nervously, 
after  a  few  minutes,  for  it  made  her  very  ill  at  ease. 

And  the  unexpected  guest  lifted  his  head  presently 
and  wiped  his  eyes  with  a  handsome,  bright-colored 
silk  handkerchief.  "  I  never  had  anything  come 
over  me  so  in  my  life,"  he  said,  beginning  to  laugh 
in  the  midst  of  his  tears.  "  I  must  go  right  up  to  the 
house  and  see  him.  Serena  wrote  me  along  in  the 
winter  that  they  'd  give  him  up,  and  he  would  n't  be 
alive  when  I  got  the  letter.  They  did  n't  expect  him 
to  get  through  the  afternoon.  I  never  heard  any 
more  from  her,  and  I  've  mourned  him  as  dead.  I 
wrote  on  to  Ezra  to  tell  me  the  particulars  ;  for 
after  finding  Serena  did  n't  write  again,  I  got  mad 
with  her,  and  then  I  got  mad  with  Ezra  because  he 
did  n't  write,  and  I  thought  you  were  all  banded  to 
gether  to  kick  me  over." 

"  He  never  got  the  letter,"  said  Susan.  "  I  hope 
to  die  if  he  ever  did,  Parker.  The  last  letter  that 
ever  came  inside  this  house  from  you  was  one  Ezra 
got,  saying  you  were  going  out  into  the  mining  coun 
try.  You  know  you  ain't  much  of  a  hand  to  write, 
nor  Ezra  neither ;  but  of  course  he  would  have  an 
swered  such  a  letter  as  that,  and  told  you  your  father 
was  living.  I  don't  know  but  he  '11  see  him  this 
morning.  The  old  gentleman  went  over  to  stop  with 
Mary  Lyddy  for  a  while." 


A  LANDLESS  f^ARMER.  83 

Parker  had  been  standing  by  the  door  for  the  last 
few  minutes,  as  if  he  were  impatient  to  be  off;  but 
he  came  back  wonderingly  into  the  room  again,  and 
Susan,  after  prefacing  her  remarks  with  "  Well,  I 
may  's  well  tell  you  first  as  last,"  embarked  upon  a 
minute  explanation  of  the  state  of  affairs. 

The  young  man  seemed  at  last  to  be  able  to  listen 
to  no  more.  He  threw  off  his  coat,  and  sat  by  the 
window  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  when  he  had  kept 
quiet  as  long  as  was  possible  he  indulged  in  some 
very  strong  language,  and  expressed  feelings  toward 
his  sister  Serena  and  Aaron  Nudd  that  would  have 
startled  them  a  good  deal  if  they  had  been  within 
hearing.  He  was  outraged  at  their  conniving  to  get 
all  the  property  into  their  own  hands  in  his  absence, 
and  at  first  he  threatened  them  with  such  terrors  of 
the  law  that  Susan  began  to  shake  in  her  shoes,  and 
became  as  afraid  of  his  anger  as  if  she  had  been  only 
a  mole  burrowing  in  the  mountain  side,  which  had 
started  an  avalanche  downward  on  its  path  of  de 
struction.  It  was  a  solemn  scene  when  Parker 
Jenkins  met  his  sister,  early  in  the  afternoon ;  but  by 
that  time  Susan  had  become  so  vised  to  excitements 
of  this  kind  —  her  own  explanations  and  the  accom 
panying  comments  having  been  repeated  after  Ezra's 
return  —  that  she  had.  a  feeling  of  envy  when  she 


84  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

saw  her  husband  and  his  cousin  marching  away  to 
ward  the  farmhouse.  "  I  don't  know  now  what  it  was 
fetched  me  here,"  Parker  was  saying.  "  I  made  up 
my  mind  forty  times  that  I  never  would  set  foot  in 
side  town  limits  again ;  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure 
everything  was  right  and  proper  in  the  burying  lot, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  you  would  set  some  things  straight 
that  I  could  n't  understand,  any  way  I  looked  at  'em, 
and  I  wanted  to  let  folks  see  I  had  n't  quite  run  to 
seed." 

Serena's  face  was  a  picture  of  defenseless  misery 
when  she  first  caught  sight  of  her  brother.  She  had 
had  a  long,  hard  morning's  work  already,  and  she 
felt  guilty  and  on  the  losing  side.  Parker  had 
passed  through  his  unreasoning  storm  of  rage,  and 
had  sailed  into  smoother  but  very  deep  waters  of 
contempt.  He  said  very  little  beyond  remarking 
that,  not  having  heard  anything  after  her  last  letter, 
he  had  supposed  that  his  father  was  dead.  He  an 
nounced  in  the  course  of  conversation  that  he  had 
done  well,  on  the  whole,  and  that  he  did  not  think  he 
should  return  to  Colorado  at  present. 

Serena  was  pale  and  crimson  by  turns,  and  tried 
her  best  to  be  affectionate  and  conciliatory.  She 
ventured  at  last  to  speak  of  her  father,  and  to  say 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  85 

that  somebody  should  go  over  to  the  Mills  and  bring 
him  home  that  very  afternoon.  "  We  '11  have  supper 
late,  and  he  '11  be  here  by  that  time.  You  '11  find 
him  a  good  deal  changed,  but  it 's  nothing  to  what  he 
was  in  the  winter,"  she  said,  fearfully. 

Parker  fixed  his  eyes  on  her,  and  presently  gave  a 
contemptuous  little  laugh.  Ezra's  excitement  reached 
its  topmost  pitch. 

"  Serena  !  "  said  the  returned  wanderer,  "  I  should 
think  you  'd  be  ashamed  to  come  near  decent  folks,, 
I  've  no  right  to  boast,  and  I  've  been  a  confounded 
fool,  I  '11  own,  but  I  never  set  to  work  to  cheat  folks, 
or  to  sneak,  or  to  lose  folks'  respect,  so  that  I  could 
have  one  more  dirty  dollar  tucked  away  in  the  bank. 
As  far  as  I  can  find  out,  you  have  cheated  me  and 
Mary  Lyddy  out  of  our  rights,  and  you  have  treated 
your  poor  old  father  anything  but  Christian.  As  for 
Aaron  Nudd,  I  won't  have  anything  to  say  to  such 
cattle.  The  writings  you  got  from  father  won't  stand 
one  minute  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  but  your  false  pre 
tenses  and  your  tricks,  will,  and  if  either  of  you 
make  any  trouble  I  '11  just  fix  you  so  you  '11  wish 
you  'd  held  your  peace.  I  may  have  shown  signs  of 
being  a  scapegrace,  and  being  gone  hook  and  sinker  ; 
but  I  'm  older  than  I  was  when  I  went  off,  and  though 
I  don't  make  no  boasts,  as  I  say,  I  don't  mean  my 


86  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

folks  shall  ever  be  ashamed  of  me.  I  'm  going  over 
myself  to  fetch  father  home,  and  afterward  I  'm  going 
to  stay  here,  and  you  can  do  as  you  see  fit." 

It  was  only  three  or  four  days  after  this  that,  late 
on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  Parker  and  Ezra  Allen 
stood  on  the  little  bridge  over  the  brook.  Parker 
was  fashionably  dressed.  He  had  attracted  a  good 
deal  more  attention  than  the  minister,  that  day,  for 
he  had  accompanied  his  father  to  church,  and  had  re 
ceived  congratulations  on  his  return  from  all  his  ac 
quaintances.  Old  Mr.  Jenkins  was  so  happy  that  he 
smiled  continually,  and  glanced  round  proudly  at  his 
son  when  he  should  have  been  listening  to  the  ser 
mon.  It  seemed  to  him  a  greater  proof  of  the  prov 
idence  of  God  than  had  ever  before  been  vouchsafed 
him,  and  he  appeared  to  have  taken,  as  everybody 
said,  a  new  lease  of  life. 

"  Done  well,  out  there  among  the  mines,  you 
said  ?  "  inquired  Ezra,  somewhat  indifferently,  though 
he  was  eager  to  ask  a  few  questions  before  any  other 
neighbor  should  join  them. 

"  First  rate,"  responded  Parker ;  "  though  I 
have  n't  made  the  fortunes  some  do.  Trouble  is, 
you  either  lose  all  you  've  got,  or  else  you  have  luck, 
and  then  get  picked  off  with  a  bullet  from  behind  a 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  87 

bush.  We  struck  a  good  vein  in  a  claim  I  had  shares 
in,  and  some  fellows  were  out  there  from  New  York 
wanting  to  buy  a  good  mining  property,  and  —  well, 
I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day  ;  but  the  end  of  it 
was,  I  sold  out  to  them  for  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars.  I  think  they  chuckled  over  it  lively,  and 
thought  they  'd  made  an  awful  good  thing  out  of 
me ;  but  I  said  to  myself  that  a  bird  in  the  hand  's 
worth  two  in  the  bush.  You  see  they  had  n't  been 
taking  out  much  of  any  ore  each  side  of  us.  I  had 
some  thoughts  of  going  into  business  with  a  fellow  I 
know  in  New  York.  We  come  on  East  together  ; 
but  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do.  It  seems  pleasant 
at  the  old  place,  and  father  he  holds  on  to  me.  I 
don't  take  much  to  farming,  but  I  've  thought  a  good 
many  times  what  a  chance  there  is  to  raise  cran 
berries  up  here  in  the  swamp.  I  've  got  forty  notions. 
I'll  wait  a  while  before  I  settle  down  anywhere.  I 
can  afford  to." 

u  Aaron  Nudd  told  Asa  Parsons  yesterday  that  he 
guessed  he  should  go  over  to  Harlow's  Mills  quick 's 
the  crops  were  in,  and  take  a  place  in  the  boxing 
room  at  the  shoe  factory  they  've  been  urging  him  to 
fill,"  said  Ezra,  with  a  wise  smile. 

"  I  'd  just  as  soon  he  would,  for  my  part,"  said 
Parker.  "  They  're  both  soft-spoken  and  meaching 


88  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

as  any  two  you  ever  saw,  and  Sereny  makes  excuses 
about  things  from  morning  to  night,  worse  than  poor 
Mary  Lyddy  ever  thought  of.  I  don'  know,  but  I 
never  did  seem  to  have  a  right  sort  o'  feelin'  for  the 
girls.  But  it  pleases  me  to  death  to  see  how  satisfied 
the  old  gentleman  is.  It  kind  of  makes  me  feel  bad, 
Ezra.  I  guess  I  shall  steady  down  for  good ;  but 
I  've  seen  something  of  hard  times  and  raking  round, 
for  a  fellow  of  my  age.  I  ain't  one  to  talk  religious, 
but  I  'm  going  to  look  after  father  ;  he  does  set  every 
thing  by  me,  don't  he  ?  Arid  a  more  homesick  man  I 
never  saw,  than  he  was  sitting  in  the  front  door  over 
there  to  Mary  Lyddy's.  He  's  got  quite  a  notion,  since 
I  spoke  of  it,  of  setting  out  a  lot  of  cranberries.  I 
pointed  out  to  him  how  well  the  land  lay  for  it,  and 
the  springs  watered  it  just  right.  I  've  seen  a  good 
deal  of  'em  down  towards  the  Cape.  I  was  there 
some  time,  you  know,  when  I  first  cleared  out  from 
home.  But  there,  I  'm  a  roving  fellow  by  nature.  I 
sha'n't  make  any  plans  yet  a  while." 

"  There  was  an  awful  sight  of  water  come  down 
out  of  the  swamp  this  last  spring,"  said  Ezra,  turning 
to  look  at  the  brook.  "  I  've  always  heard  cran 
berries  was  an  uncertain  crop,  and  don't  you  go 
throwing  away  your  means  till  you  know  what  you  're 
about.  But  you  stick  to  the  old  gentleman,  Parker  ; 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  89 

if  ever  I  pitied  a  man  in  my  life,  it  was  him,  this 
summer." 

It  was  soon  observed  how  Mr.  Jerry  Jenkins  had 
improved  in  health  and  spirits  since  his  son's  return. 
He  resumed  his  place  in  society,  and  entered  upon 
such  duties  as  fell  to  his  share  with  pleased  alacrity. 
He  was  complimented  on  his  recovery,  and  though 
some  grumbling  people,  who  always  chose  to  be  on 
the  off  side,  spoke  with  pity  of  the  Nudds,  and  ex 
pressed  a  sympathy  for  Aaron's  having  undertaken 
the  farm  only  to  be  ousted,  other  people  thought  of 
them  with  scorn.  However,  worldly  prosperity  is 
one  of  the  surest  titles  to  respect,  and  after  it  was 
known  that  Aaron  had  bought  an  interest  in  one  of 
the  shoe-manufacturing  companies  at  Harlow's  Mills 
he  was  looked  up  to  as  much  as  he  deserved,  at  any 
rate,  and  possibly  more.  Some  people  who  knew 
him  held  him  up  as  an  example  of  its  being  worth 
while  to  save  and  be  thrifty ;  but  Ezra  Allen  and 
others  of  his  way  of  thinking  could  not  use  hard 
enough  language  to  suit  themselves,  whenever  his 
name  was  mentioned.  Serena  was  much  more  popu 
lar  in  the  village  than  her  sister.  She  dressed  con 
spicuously,  as  she  thought  became  her  station,  and  she 
took  an  active  part  in  church  matters,  being  very 


90  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

efficient  in  the  sewing  society  and  the  social  relations 
of  the  parish.  She  assented  emphatically  to  all  the 
doctrines,  and  insisted  upon  the  respectability  of  the 
Christian  virtues  ;  but  it  must  be  owned  that  she 
practiced  very  few  of  them  which  related  to  the  well- 
being  and  comfort  of  other  people.  She  and  Aaron 
and  their  boy  drove  out  to  the  farm  occasionally,  in  a 
shiny  top-buggy,  to  see  her  father,  and  such  visits 
were  outwardly  successful  and  harmonious. 

At  the  farm  itself  life  went  on  smoothly.  Mr. 
Jenkins  had  been  troubled  at  first  with  many  fears, 
when  he  found  that  Serena  was  really  going  to  depart 
early  in  the  fall,  after  her  brother's  return,  and  he 
could  not  forbear  some  expressions  of  wonder  at  her 
sudden  change  of  feeling  in  regard  to  farming.  She 
constantly  said  that  she  had  never  liked  it,  that  it  was 
a  dog's  life  for  any  woman  to  do  the  housework  on  a 
large  farm ;  and  her  father  only  replied  that  her  tune 
had  changed  a  good  deal  within  a  year.  He  took  a 
long  breath  as  he  saw  her  go  away  in  a  heavily  laden 
wagon,  which  preceded  the  team  in  which  her  house 
hold  goods  were  being  moved  to  the  Mills.  She 
had  waited  until  the  last  minute,  as  if  she  feared  that 
some  treasures  might  be  abstracted  from  the  load. 
"  She 's  about  stripped  the  house,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins, 
with  a  chuckle,  as  he  came  back  into  the  kitchen ; 


A  LANDLESS   FARMER.  91 

"  but  we  '11  get  along  somehow,  Parker.  I  've  done 
the  best  I  could  by  her,  I  know  that ! " 

Parker  chuckled  in  his  turn.  "  She  's  an  awful 
grabber,"  said  he.  "  I  'm  hanged  if  I  did  n't  catch 
her  down  cellar  this  morning  fishing  into  the  pork 
barrel ;  she  did  n't  hear  me  coming,  and  she  was 
started,  and  let  a  piece  drop,  and  it  sent  the  brine  all 
up  into  her  face  and  eyes." 

"  It  can't  be  possible  that  new  barrel  is  so  low  as 
that  a'ready,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  guess  she  had 
made  a  good  haul  before  you  come.  Well,  I  'm  glad, 
I  'm  sure.  I  should  n't  want  any  child  o'  mine  to  be 
without  pork.  And  there  was  times  Sereny  was 
right  down  clever  and  pleasant  spoken.  I  don't 
blame  her  for  wanting  to  be  where  there  is  more  go- 

o  O 

ing  forrard,  if  she  takes  a  notion  to  it." 

As  for  Parker  Jenkins,  he  settled  down  on  the 
old  farm,  as  many  another  New  Englishman  has 
done,  after  two  or  three  voyages  at  sea,  or  long 
journeys  in  quest  of  wealth  to  California  or  Texas  or 
the  Western  country.  He  looked  upon  himself  as 
being  much  more  a  man  of  the  world  than  his  neigh 
bors,  and  his  consideration  for  his  old  father  was 
most  delightful.  The  housekeeping  went  on  well 
enough  under  the  auspices  of  a  cousin,  a  good,  sensi- 


92  A  LANDLESS  FARMER. 

ble  woman,  who  was  set  adrift  just  in  good  time  for 
these  two  unprotected  men  by  the  death  of  her  own 
father,  who  had  been  for  some  years  dependent  on 
her  care.  It  was  soon  known,  however,  that  the 
chief  reason  of  young  Jenkins's  contentment  with  so 
quiet  a  life  was  his  attraction  toward  a  pretty  daughter 
of  his  neighbor,  Asa  Parsons,  who  was  only  too  ready 
to  smile  upon  so  pleasant  and  good-looking  a  person, 
while  her  father  and  mother  were  mindful  of  his 
wealth. 

So  we  leave  the  old  farmer,  no  longer  feeling  cast 
off  and  desolate,  to  live  out  the  rest  of  his  days.  He 
forgot  even  the  worst  of  his  sorrows  in  that  unhappy 
winter  and  summer.  It  seemed  as  if  most  of  them 
had  been  fanciful  and  connected  with  his  illness. 
Serena  was  apt  to  be  reminded  oftener  and  oftener, 
as  he  grew  older,  of  how  impossible  he  found  it  to 
get  on  comfortably  without  his  old  secretary,  and  she 
came  to  regret  deep'ly  that  her  love  for  gain  had  al 
lowed  her  to  part  with  it,  when  the  craze  for  old 
furniture  reached  Harlow's  Mills  in  its  most  unreason 
ing  form,  and  a  piece  of  furniture  that  could  be  called 
centennial  was  a  credit  to  its  owner. 

The  old  man  often  said  that  his  illness  had  broken 
him  down ;  and  that  he  had  never  been  the  same  man 
since.  Those  of  his  neighbors  who  had  known  his 


A  LANDLESS  FARMER.  93 

sorrows,  and  the  pain  which  had  been  harder  to  bear 
than  the  long  sickness  itself,  were  glad  that  this 
blessed  Indian  summer  had  come  to  him  to  warm  him 
through  and  through,  and  smile  upon  him  in  the  late 
autumn  of  his  life's  year. 

Heaven  only  knows  the  story  of  the  lives  that  the 
gray  old  New  England  farmhouses  have  sheltered 
and  hidden  away  from  curious  eyes  as  best  they 
might.  Stranger  dramas  than  have  ever  been  writ 
ten  belong  to  the  dull-looking,  quiet  homes,  that  have 
seen  generation  after  generation  live  and  die.  On 
the  well-worn  boards  of  these  provincial  theatres  the 
great  plays  of  life,  the  comedies  and  tragedies,  with 
their  lovers  and  conspirators  and  clowns  ;  their  Ju 
liets  and  Ophelias,  Shylocks  and  King  Lears,  are 
acted  over  and  over  and  over  again. 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 


IT  was  about  half-past  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon, 
and  the  time  of  year  was  late  September.  Miss 
Lydia  Dunn  was  busy  in  her  kitchen,  where  the 
faded  sunlight  lay  across  the  floor,  and  the  after- 
breakfast  work  was  beginning  to  give  way  to  the 
preparations  for  dinner.  Miss  Dunn  had  lived  alone 
through  a  good  many  years,  but,  to  use  her  own  fa 
vorite  remark,  she  always  treated  herself  as  if  she 
were  a  whole  family. 

"  I  found  myself  living  at  the  pantry  shelves,  quick 
as  mother  died,"  she  said.  "  It  did  n't  seem  to  be 
worth  while  to  set  a  table  and  get  a  lot  of  dishes 
about  just  for  one.  I  got  so  I  stopped  the  baker 
every  time  he  come  by,  and  the  end  of  it  was  I 
did  n't  eat  any  oftener  than  I  could  help.  I  took  to 
being  low  in  my  mind,  and  thought  I  wa'n't  ever 
going  to  be  any  more  use  in  the  world ;  and  I  was 
always  reading  some  yaller  old  sermon  books,  that  I 
never  should  if  I  had  been  well ;  it  seemed  as  if  they 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  95 

had  been  laying  about  the  house  hoping  to  get  a 
chance  to  gnaw  somebody,  for  they  worked  me  up 
dreadfully.  Mother  and  I  had  lived  together  so  long 
that  I  missed  her,  —  seemed  as  if  I  could  n't  never 
get  used  to  living  alone  ;  but  at  last  it  come  to  me 
what  part  o'  the  trouble  was,  and  I  set  right  to,  and 
from  that  day  to  this  I  've  given  myself  three  good 
regular  meals  every  day.  I  tell  you,  you  must  feed 
folks  same  as  you  do  creaturs,  if  you  want  to  get  any 
kind  o'  work  out  of  'em." 

It  was  certainly  a  blessing  to  other  people  that 
Miss  Dunn  had  come  to  this  wise  decision,  for,  after 
the  death  of  her  mother,  who  had  needed  all  her 
daughter's  care  in  the  later  years  of  her  life,  she  had 
always  been  more  than  ready  to  use  her  freedom  and 
strength  and  good  sense  in  other  people's  behalf. 
She  had  a  great  deal  of  sound  discretion,  and  a  quick 
insight  into  men  and  things  on  which  she  valued  her 
self  not  a  little,  as  well  she  mi^ht.  If  she  had  been 

7  O 

bad-tempered  she  would  have  been  feared,  for  she 
had  a  quick  wit  and  a  bitter  impatience  with  shifti 
ness  and  deceit ;  but  her  bark  was  worse  than  her 
bite,  and  one  after  another  of  her  neighbors  and 
townspeople  were  helped  by  her  over  hard  places  in 
their  lives,  and  every  year  they  grew  more  strongly 
attached  to  her.  It  is  true  that  she  was  often  thought 


96  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

a  little  hard,  and  that  she  gained  the  ill-will  of  some 
of  her  associates  whose  lives  were  not  wholly  spent 
in  following  the  paths  of  rectitude.  She  sometimes 
felt  sorry  that  there  was  nobody  who  belonged  to  her, 
or  who  really  loved  her  because  they  were  of  the 
same  flesh  and  blood.  It  is  a  rare  thing  to  find  a 
woman  of  her  age  in  a  New  England  village  who  has 
no  near  relations  ;  for  when  there  was  less  inter 
course  with  the  rest  of  the  world  than  nowadays,  and 
families  were  larger,  the  people  were  apt  to  be  closely 
connected  by  frequent  intermarriages,  and  it  made  a 
community  of  interest  and  a  clannishness  which  had 
many  advantages  in  spite  of  its  defects.  Now  that 
the  young  people  go  from  the  farming  communities 
to  the  shops  and  factories  of  the  larger  towns,  they 
are  surer  to  marry  strangers  and  foreigners  than  their 
old  schoolmates  and  playmates,  and  the  state  of  soci 
ety  in  these  latter  days  in  such  a  town  as  Walton  is 
pretty  well  disintegrated. 

Miss  Dunn's  grandfather  had  been  the  minister  of 
Walton  for  forty  years.  That  of  itself  gave  her  a 
right  to  assert  herself  in  parish  matters,  and  her  in 
herited  love  of  reading  and  thinking  helped  her  to 
look  oftener  at  the  principles  and  causes  of  things 
than  at  their  incidents  and  effects.  The  elder  people 
of  the  town  still  turned  back  with  reverence  to  the 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  97 

deeds  and  opinions  of  old  Parson  Dunn,  and  gave  an 
honored  place  in  their  councils  to  his  upright  and 
straightforward  granddaughter. 

On  this  Friday  morning  she  felt  uncommonly  well 
and  active,  and  had  been  scurrying  about  her  house 
ever  since  she  had  waked,  sweeping  and  dusting,  and 
putting  things  to  rights  generally.  She  remembered 
her  mother's  saying  that  all  out-doors  always  seemed 
to  try  to  get  under  cover  before  cold  weather,  and 
she  angrily  threw  away  the  collections  of  dust  and  lint 
which  she  swept  up  in  one  room  after  another.  When 
she  had  finished  her  own  room  she  came  out,  bring 
ing  the  broom  and  dust-pan  and  duster  all  at  once, 
and  before  she  began  to  get  dinner  she  stood  for 
a  minute  before  the  small  glass  in  the  case  of  the 
kitchen  clock.  The  big  gingham  handkerchief  was 
still  tied  over  her  head,  to  keep  the  dust  off,  and  she 
took  a  good  look  at  herself. 

"  You  're  getting  along  in  years,  that  's  a  fact, 
Lyddy  Dunn,"  said  she,  good-naturedly  ;  and  then 
she  sighed,  and  put  away  the  handkerchief  in  its 
drawer,  and  went  forward  with  some  preparations  for 
dinner. 

The  house  in  which  she  lived  was  one  that  her 
grandfather  had  bought  in  his  last  days,  and  in  which 
his  son  had  lived  after  him.  There  was  no  village  in 
7 


98  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

Walton,  at  least  in  that  part  of  it,  but  farm  joined 
farm,  and  there  was  no  waste  land.  The  main  road 
of  the  town  traversed  a  long  ridge  from  end  to  end ; 
the  old  church  stood  at  the  very  top,  blown  by  all 
the  winds  of  heaven,  like  a  ship  on  the  high  seas, 
and  on  the  southern  slope,  close  at  the  road-side,  was 
Miss  Dunn's  house. 

The  front  of  it  faced  the  south,  and  the  front  door 
opened  into  a  prim  little  garden,  where  some  shel 
tered  hollyhocks  and  china  asters  still  lingered ;  be 
yond  was  an  orchard,  where  many  of  the  old  trees 
had  died  or  been  blown  down,  and  ha4  been  replaced 
by  young  ones.  The  leaves  were  falling  fast  now, 
but  nothing  held  on  better  than  the  apple  and  lilac- 
leaves,  and  these  were  growing  browner,  and  rustling 
louder  when  the  wind  blew,  day  by  day.  Miss  Dunn 
was  very  fond  of  her  house.  The  main  part  of  it 
had  two  rooms  on  each  floor ;  but  the  lower  roof  of 
it,  that  covered  the  big  kitchen  and  down-stairs  bed 
room  and  the  great  kitchen-chamber,  was  older  than 
the  other,  and  was  gambrel-shaped,  and  had  for  its 
centre  an  enormous  chimney,  that  was,  as  it  should 
be,  the  warm  heart  of  the  house. 

The  outer  kitchen  door  opened  to  the  road  in  a 
most  hospitable  fashion,  and  some  smooth  gray  flag 
stones,  like  a  stray  bit  of  sidewalk,  led  along  under 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  99 

the  kitchen  windows  as  far  as  the  front  gate.  Miss 
Dunn  suddenly  bethought  herself  to  sweep  these,  and 
brought  her  second-best  broom.  There  was  a  pleas 
ant  fragrance  of  faded  leaves  in  the  air  ;  the  sunshine 
was  very  warm,  and  the  maple  leaves  seemed  to  have 
fallen  too  soon  on  the  thick  green  grass,  which  still 
looked  as  fresh  as  if  it  were  June.  In  the  lowlands 
far  below  there  was  a  most  lovely  blur  and  haze  with 
the  misty  air  and  the  colors  of  the  trees  ;  the  sky 
was  cloudless  but  a  little  dim,  and  the  snowberry 
bushes  rustled  so  over  the  fence,  in  the  breeze  that 
came  past  the  corner  of  the  house,  that  our  friend 
looked  around  at  them  as  if  somebody  had  spoken. 
A  little  stick,  that  was  shaped  like  some  thin,  twisted 
mockery  of  a  human  being,  was  lying  against  the 
kitchen  door-step,  as  if  it  had  tried  to  climb  in  and 
had  failed ;  and  Lydia  Dunn  stooped  to  pick  it  up, 
and  perched  it  on  the  outside  window-sill,  where  it 
stood  with  one  foot  crooked  into  the  little  staple  to 
which  the  blind  was  sometimes  hooked,  and  seemed 
to  look  into  the  kitchen  wistfully. 

Miss  Dunn  smiled  as  she  looked  at  it,  and  had  a 
feeling  flit  over  her  that  something  was  going  to  hap 
pen  ;  there  was  an  uncanny  look  about  the  strange 
bit  of  a  lilac  bush.  She  caught  the  sound  of  an  ap 
proaching  footstep,  and  as  quick  as  one  of  the  leaves 


100  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

that  were  flittering  about  at  her  feet  she  went  back 
into  the  house  again.  She  knew  well  enough  the 
familiar  figure  that  was  still  some  distance  away  down 
the  road,  and  was  sure  that  she  was  to  have  a  visit. 
She  was  much  attached  to  Jonas  Phipps,  and  quite 
dependent  on  his  assistance  in  her  housekeeping,  but 
she  always  felt  a  little  antagonistic  and  on  the  off 
side  of  things  when  he  first  made  his  appearance. 

"  Of  course  he  must  put  into  port  here  for  his  din 
ner,  when  I  've  had  a  busy  forenoon  !  "  she  said  an 
grily,  and  began  to  change  the  kettles  about  on  the 
stove ;  and  she  whisked  the  tea-kettle  over  to  the 
sink  as  if  she  were  putting  it  in  jail  for  its  sins,  but 
it  went  on  singing  cheerfully,  as  if  it  had  a  good 
conscience. 

Presently  the  latch  clicked,  and  Mr.  Jonas  Phipps 
came  in  at  the  door,  closing  it  softly  after  him ;  and 
as  he  felt  at  once  that  unmistakable  lack  of  welcome 
which  was  not  unusual,  he  dropped  his  hat  on  the 
floor  beside  the  chair  he  dropped  himself  into,  and 
took  a  long  breath  to  show  that  he  was  much  fatigued. 
He  was  a  lame  man,  and  there  was  something  appeal 
ing  about  him,  as  well  as  something  indescribably 
shrewd  and  quick,  —  the  helplessness  of  a  wounded 
and  hampered  fox  or  other  cunning  creature,  that 
has  not  the  physical  strength  to  make  the  best  use 
of  its  instincts. 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  101 

"  There,  do  spudge  up  a  little,  Jonas,"  said  Miss 
Lydia,  moving  to  and  fro  about  the  kitchen  as  fast 
as  she  could.  "  You  remind  me  of  an  old  limp  cal 
ico  bag  that's  hung  up  against  the  wall,  —  nothing  to 
take  out  of  it,  and  every  chance  to  put  in." 

Jonas  brightened  up  at  once,  and  sat  erect,  as  if 
his  hostess  had  furnished  him  with  a  backbone. 

"You  always  have  your  joke,"  said  he,  chuckling. 
"  Ain't  nothing  I  could  do  for  you  to-day,  I  ex 
pect?" 

"  I  'm  about  out  of  kindling  wood,"  said  Miss 
Dunn,  doubtfully.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  as  well 
as  I  do.  I  thought  you  were  going  to  get  Otis's  boy 
to  help  you,  and  cut  me  up  a  good  lot  of  small  wood 
some  time  this  week.  You  'd  better  stop,  now  you  're 
here,  —  though  to-morrow  will  do  just  as  well,  and 
you  can  come  earlier  in  the  forenoon." 

"  To-morrow  and  Monday  —  I  Ve  got  to  be  off 
both  them  days,"  said  Jonas,  not  without  pride. 
"You  '11  have  to  take  me  when  you  can  git  me,  for 
once  ; "  and  putting  on  his  much-battered  hat  he 
shuffled  toward  the  door  that  led  out  to  the  woodshed. 
"  Have  you  heard  —  I  s'pose  you  have  —  that  Henry 
Stroud,  old  Ben  Stroud's  oldest  son,  has  come  back, 
and  is  stopping  over  to  Whiteho use's  tavern  ?  He 
was  over  here  driving  about  yesterday  afternoon,  and 


102  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

he  stopped  to  have  some  talk  with  me.  I  had  an 
errand  over  Donnell's  way  to  help  him  get  in  his  cab 
bages,  but  they  'd  got  them  all  in  before  I  got  there. 
I  thought  it  was  Thursday  he  wanted  me,  but  when 
I  got  there  he  said  it  was  Wednesday  ;  "  and  Jonas 
was  silent,  as  if  he  wished  to  respectfully  give  place 
to  the  scolding  Miss  Dunn  commonly  furnished  him 
with  at  such  confessions  of  his  laziness. 

But  she  merely  laughed,  and  then  asked,  "  What 's 
he  here  for  ?  He  can't  think  that  anybody  is  in  dis 
tress  to  see  him." 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  come  for,  unless  he  wanted 
to  look  round  his  old  haunts.  He  bespoke  me  to  go 
up  to  his  father's  place  with  him  to  set  things  to 
rights  in  the  burying  lot.  I  told  him  I  was  n't  much 
of  a  hand  for  such  things  now,  'count  of  my  lameness, 
but  I  'd  do  what  I  could.  He  was  real  friendly  and 
free-spoken,  and  knowed  me  right  away.  Him  and 
me 's  about  of  an  age,  —  sixty-two  in  the  month  of 
January  next ; "  and  Jonas  went  slowly  out  to  the 
woodshed,  and  began  to  chop  the  large  sticks  of 
pine  into  kindlings  with  leisurely  blows,  as  if  there 
were  no  hurry  about  either  that  or  anything  else. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare !  "  said  Miss  Lydia  Dunn. 
"  I  wonder  what  will  happen  next !  "  She  longed  to 
question  Jonas  further,  but  she  did  not;  and  later, 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  103 

when  the  soup  that  she  had  been  warming  for  her 
own  dinner  was  in  readiness  to  be  eaten,  she  carried 
out  a  comfortable  bowlful  to  him,  and  set  it  down 
without  a  word. 

"  Now  I  call  that  real  clever  of  ye,"  said  Mr. 
Phipps.  "  I  was  just  'lowing  I  'd  better  be  getting 
home  to  my  dinner,'7  —  which  was  a  great  lie,  since 
he  had  been  sniffing  the  fragrance  of  the  soup  and 
expecting  this  provision  eagerly  for  at  least  half  an 
hour. 

"  I  suppose  Henry  Stroud  must  have  aged  a  good 
deal  ?  "  she  asked,  lingering  for  a  minute  in  the  door 
way. 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  might  suppose,  seeing  he 's 
been  gone  thirty-five  years,  —  no,  forty  years  it  must 
be,  or  rising  forty.  It  was  the  fall  after  his  father 
died,  and  Henry  was  out  of  his  time  the  spring  be 
fore.  Well,  he 's  got  the  ginooine  Stroud  looks  ;  he 's 
featured  for  all  the  world  like  the  old  man.  I  know 
it  was  forty  years  sence  he  died,  because  that  was  the 
year  we  moved  over  to  the  Ashby  place,  —  fork  of 
the  roads  as  you  go  to  Knowles's  mills.  The  house 
is  been  gone  this  gre't  while." 

"There,  your  soup '11  all  get  cold,  Jonas,"  said 
Miss  Dunn,  impatiently,  and  at  once  retreated  to  the 
kitchen,  fearing  that  the  accounts  of  the  changes  of 


104  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

residence  of  the  Phipps  family  might  otherwise  be 
continued  all  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  Jonas  liked 
nothing  better  than  to  tell  long  stories,  involving  in 
finite  ramblings  and  details,  to  any  audience  he  was 
able  to  muster. 

That  evening  Miss  Dunn  stood  looking  out  of  the 
window  down  the  road,  noticing  the  lights  in  the 
houses.  She  always  had  a  fancy  for  sitting  a  while 
in  the  twilight,  after  supper,  which  came  early  at  this 
time  of  year,  when  the  days  were  growing  so  short ; 
and  before  she  lit  her  lamp  she  liked  to  take  a  survey 
of  the  neighborhood  and  of  the  sky.  The  stars  were 
bright  and  the  weather  was  satisfactory,  but  from  one 
of  the  three  houses  which  were  in  sight  there  was  an 
unusual  radiance,  and  our  friend  saw  at  once,  to  her 
surprise,  that  there  was  a  lamp  in  the  best  parlor. 
Nothing  could  be  more  amazing  than  this,  and  at 
first  Miss  Dunn  thought  that  some  member  of  the 
family  had  gone  into  the  room  on  an  errand,  it  being 
used  as  to  its  closet  for  a  treasure  chamber. 

"  I  hope  that  old  Mr.  Singer  has  n't  been  taken 
with  one  of  his  bad  ill  turns,"  she  said  to  herself, 
anxiously.  "I  know  they  always  keep  some  spirit 
in  that  closet."  But  the  light  shone  steadily  on  like 
a  beacon,  until  there  was  no  room  for  doubt  that  the 
Singers  had  company  to  tea. 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  105 

At  last  Miss  Dunn  composed  herself  to  her  even 
ing's  work  of  knitting  and  reading  together,  and 
resolutely  drew  and  bolted  the  close  shutters  and 
lighted  the  lamp.  She  was  very  fond  of  reading, 
but  there  was  only  a  small  harvest  of  books  to  be 
reaped  in  Walton,  and  she  was  just  then  working  her 
way  through  a  dull  memoir  of  an  injudicious  and  un 
happy  man  who  had  mistaken  his  calling  and  tried  to 
preach.  The  book  was  written  by  some  one  who 
ought  to  have  profited  by  this  sad  example ;  and 
Miss  Dunn,  who  knew  a  good  book  when  she  saw  it, 
but  would  usually  rather  have  a  dull  one  than  none 
at  all,  soon  read  the  less  and  knitted  the  more,  until 
the  leaves  of  the  volume  fluttered  up  unheeded,  and 
she  lost  her  place  without  observing  it.  She  really 
had  too  much  to  think  about,  herself,  to  give  her 
mind  to  other  people's  thoughts.  Her  excitements 
and  pleasures  were  like  the  pasturage  that  sheep  find 
near  the  sea ;  like  those  delicious  nibbles  close  to  the 
rocks,  which  have  a  flavor  that  no  inland  field  can 
give  to  its  plentiful  grass  blades.  Henry  Stroud  had 
come  back.  He  had  once  shown  a  great  liking  for 
her,  when  they  were  boy  and  girl,  which  she  had 
disdained  and  her  family  disapproved.  More  than 
this,  which  was  a  half-forgotten  memory,  at  that  very 
moment  an  unknown  company  was  assembled  under 


106  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

her  neighbor's  roof.  What  dismal  tale  of  a  life  that 
had  made  its  failures  through  stupidity  could  wile  her 
mind  from  such  diversions  ?  It  was  difficult  to  even 
guess  at  the  reasons  that  had  led  to  Mr.  Stroud's 
return.  His  history  was  little  known  to  his  old  ac 
quaintances,  except  that  at  one  time  he  had  been 
very  rich  in  South  America,  and  had  afterwards 
failed  in  his  business.  And  after  saying  to  the  sub 
ject  of  the  memoir  that  he  was  an  old  dromedary,  if 
ever  there  was  one,  Miss  Lydia  Dunn  gave  herself 
up  to  reflection,  until  she  was  so  sleepy  that  she 
could  hardly  stumble  off  to  bed.  The  lights  were  not 
out  even  then  at  the  Singers'. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Mary  Ann  Singer  came 
up  the  road  with  a  little  pitcher  to  borrow  some 
yeast,  and  Miss  Lydia  gave  her  a  cordial  welcome. 

"  We  're  sort  of  behindhand  this  forenoon,"  the 
visitor  said,  "  for  we  had  company  last  night." 

"  I  noticed  the  best  room  was  lighted  up,"  said 
Miss  Dunn,  with  the  full  expectation  of  hearing  all 
about  it. 

"  You  see,  just  before  tea  we  saw  a  buggy  drive 
up,  and  a  stranger  come  in  and  asked  to  see  the  folks. 
I  thought  he  was  an  agent  or  something,  but  it  was 
a  Mr.  Stroud,  who  used  to  live  here  when  he  was  a 
boy.  He  has  been  most  all  over  the  world,  and  he  'a 


A  NEW  PART&HIONER.  107 

come  back  to  see  the  old  place.  I  just  wish  you 
could  have  heard  him  talk ;  it  was  splendid.  He  says 
he  don't  know  but  he  may  settle  here,  —  for  sum 
mers,  at  any  rate.  His  health 's  broke  down,  being 
in  hot  climates,  and  he  said  two  or  three  times  he 
did  n't  mean  to  do  any  more  business.  I  guess  he 's 
rich ;  he  looked  as  if  he  had  means.  He  inquired 
for  you,  and  said  he  was  going  to  call  and  see  you." 

"  Much  obliged  to  him,"  said  Miss  Dunn,  grudg 
ingly. 

"  He 's  stopping  over  to  Whitehouse's  tavern,"  said 
Mary  Ann.  "  I  never  saw  anything  better  than  the 
clothes  he  had  on,  and  everything  about  him  spoke  of 
wealth.  He  said  he  had  been  to  see  the  minister, 
and  he  meant  to  do  something  for  the  church,  on  ac 
count  of  his  mother's  being  a  member." 

"  More  'n  ever  his  father  was,"  said  Miss  Dunn. 
"  I  ain't  going  to  say  anything  'gainst  Henry  Stroud 
without  having  seen  him  these  forty  years ;  but  he 
wa'n't  much  thought  of  as  a  young  fellow,  and  his 
father  cheated  my  poor  old  grandfather  out  of  about 
all  he  had,  except  this  place.  I  don't  like  the  breed ; 
but  then,  as  I  say,  I  ain't  going  to  run  a  man  down  I 
don't  know." 

"  He  seemed  to  be  religious,"  said  Mary  Ann,  who 
was  unwilling  to  have  the  glory  of  her  guest  tarnished 


108  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

in  this  way ;  and  Miss  Dunn  responded  that  religion 
ought  to  make  some  difference,  if  it  was  the  real 
kind  ;  after  which  young  and  inexperienced  Miss 
Singer  went  away  with  the  yeast,  somewhat  crest 
fallen. 

"  Guess  they  must  be  going  to  bake  Sunday,  if 
they  have  n't  got  their  bread  a-going  yet,"  thought 
Miss  Dunn.  "  I  'd  'a'  put  it  to  rise  after  he  went  off, 
last  night,  if  it  had  been  me  ;  but  I  suppose  they 
were  all  so  betwattled  they  did  n't  know  which  end 
they  was  on.  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  lesson  to 
'em  to  air  out  that  south  setting-room  once  or  twice 
a  month.  Between  being  scared  of  the  dust  in  the 
summer  and  not  using  it  after  the  cold  weather  comes, 
the  air  don't  get  changed  three  times  a  year.  And 
come  to  heat  it  up  with  an  air-tight  stove  !  " 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  and  the  weather  be 
ing  fair,  there  was  an  unusually  large  congregation 
in  the  church  ;  and  the  news  of  the  stranger's  coming 
having  flown  far  and  wide,  all  eyes  were  ready  to 
follow  him,  as  he  walked  up  the  aisle  behind  the 
minister  to  the  parsonage  pew.  The  minister's  wife 
betrayed  a  consciousness  of  being  in  unaccustomed 
society ;  and  when  the  guest  and  the  parson  both 
waited  to  usher  her  into  the  pew,  it  was  most  annoy 
ing  to  stumble  and  almost  fall  over  the  crickets,  on 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  109 

the  way  to  her  seat.  Her  face  was  very  red,  as  she 
picked  herself  up,  and  even  the  children  all  looked 
that  way  as  they  heard  the  loud  and  sudden  noise. 

Mr.  Stroud  listened  intently  to  the  sermon.  He 
was  a  good-looking  man,  but  he  had  a  difficulty  in 
looking  you  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  he  was  dressed 
in  a  way  that  his  former  townspeople  could  not  fail 
to  admire.  And  when  the  service  was  over,  and  the 
Sunday  -  school  was  assembled,  Mr.  Peckham,  the 
minister,  called  upon  Brother  Stroud  to  lead  in 
prayer ;  and  Brother  Stroud  prayed  long  and  elo 
quently,  greatly  to  the  approval  of  his  hearers.  It 
was  really  very  pleasant  to  find  that  a  man  so  dis 
tinguished  in  his  appearance  had  so  good  a  memory 
for  his  old  friends.  He  seemed  to  remember  every 
body  who  remembered  him,  and  was  always  ready 
to  remind  his  old  acquaintances  of  things  that  had 
happened  before  he  went  away,  while  he  spoke  of 
the  departed  members  of  the  parish  to  their  living 
connections  with  much  interest  and  sympathy.  On 
that  first  Sunday  there  was  a  great  loitering  about 
and  hand-shaking  ;  in  fact,  there  was  not  the  usual 
hurry  to  get  the  horses  unfastened  and  to  start  for 
home.  Miss  Dunn  said  to  herself  often,  in  those 
first  days,  that  she  could  understand  the  young  folks 
running  after  him,  but  she  should  think  the  old  ones, 


110  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

that  had  known  him  root  and  branch,  would  rather 
wait  a  while.  She  could  not  explain  even  to  herself 
the  feeling  of  antipathy  that  rushed  over  her  at  the 
first  sight  of  him.  She  grudged  all  the  deference 
and  civilities  that  were  shown  him,  and  yet  she  was 
obliged  to  acknowledge  that  he  deserved  considera 
tion,  and  that  he  was  fine-looking  and  had  a  good 
manner,  —  "a  way  with  him,"  most  of  the  people 
said.  He  seemed  disposed  to  be  very  friendly  and 
generous.  The  young  people  admired  him  a  good 
deal,  and  from  the  very  first  he  received  great  atten 
tion  and  hospitality. 

Mr.  Peckham  was  more  delighted  with  this  new 

3 

parishioner  than  any  one  else,  for  he  saw  in  him  the 
promise  of  help  for  some  of  his  cherished  projects. 
His  predecessor  had  been  an  old  -  school  parson, 
preaching  sound  and  harmless  sermons  twice  on  every 
Sunday ;  exchanging  with  his  brother  ministers  with 
due  regularity  and  suitable  infrequency.  Old  Mr. 
Duncan  had  been  much  loved  and  respected.  The 
joys  and  sorrows  of  his  congregation  rarely  were  dis 
connected  from  him  ;  for  he  was  a  cheerful  soul,  most 
fatherly  and  kind,  and  was  not  instinctively  set  aside 
entirely  to  the  performance  of  ecclesiastical  rites  and 
ceremonies.  Under  his  care  the  church  and  parish 
existed  in  a  most  comfortable  fashion,  and  the  aver- 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  Ill 

age  of  things  was  kept  up  year  after  year.  It  was 
somewhat  of  a  shock  to  the  parishioners  to  find  that 
Mr.  Peckham  considered  all  these  years  unfruitful, 
and  the  revival  which  followed  his  teachings,  or  led 
them,  in  the  first  winter  of  his  settlement,  seemed  to 
cast  blame,  by  contrast,  on  the  orderly  progress  of 
the  former  additions  to  the  church  membership.  Mr. 
Peckham  was  an  earnest,  excitable,  self-denying  little 
man,  though  his  self-denials  were  often  in  further 
ance  of  his  own  selfish  ends.  He  was  ambitious  and 
ascetic,  and  he  was  apt  to  be  dyspeptic  and  low  in 
his  mind,  which  he  and  his  parishioners  occasionally 
mistook  for  anxiety  and  discouragement  over  the 
wickedness  and  willfulness  of  this  world  in  general. 
He  liked  to  have  a  good  deal  going  on,  though  he 
bewailed  the  exhaustive  nature  of  a  clergyman's  work  ; 
and  just  now  he  was  trying  hard  to  get  the  people  of 
his  parish  to  build  a  vestry,  or  small  chapel-like  build 
ing,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Sunday-school  and  of  even 
ing  meetings. 

But  the  slow  old  farmers  were  not  disposed  to 
move  in  a  hurry.  They  were  too  tired  and  sleepy  to 
go  to  any  meetings  after  dark,  especially  when  they 
lived  far  from  the  church,  as  most  of  them  did  ;  and 
unless  there  was  something  that  really  promised  a 
sufficient  reward  ^of  excitement  and  interest,  they 


112  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

held  their  evening  meetings  at  home.  They  had  an 
unexpressed  conviction  that  the  large  attendance 
at  the  revival  meetings  of  the  winter  before  could 
not  be  expected  to  last,  though  Mr.  Peckham  were 
never  so  eloquent.  One  old  man,  who  was  rarely 
absent  from  his  pew  on  Sundays,  from  one  end  of 
the  year  to  the  other,  said  impressively  to  his  neigh 
bor,  as  they  unfastened  their  horses  from  the  long, 
well-gnawed  hitching-rail  at  the  back  of  the  church, 
"  I  don't  see,  Silas,  why  there  *s  any  need  we  should 
build  a  second-sized  meetin'-house,  for  the  good  o' 
the  six  or  eight  women  folks  who  goes  reg'lar  to  the 
evening  meetin's.  There  's  double  the  expense  for 
heatin'  the  two  buildin's  every  Sunday v and  long  's 
they  always  had  the  Sabbath-school  in  the  meetin'- 
house,  I  don't  see  why  they  can't  continue,"  — which 
was  very  old-fogyish  doctrine  to  the  minds  of  some 
young  people,  and  particularly  to  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Peckham. 

Sometimes  the  minister  had  felt  himself  to  be  un 
appreciated  and  mistaken,  because  his  people  balked 
like  unruly  horses,  and  would  not  follow  him  in  the 
carrying  out  of  his  cherished  plans,  and  so  he  wel 
comed  this  sympathetic  and  apparently  rich  stranger 
with  open  arms.  He  could  not  resist  saying  that  it 
was  sometimes  hard  for  a  man  who  had  had  a  wider 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  113 

outlook  over  the  world  to  suit  himself  to  the  limited 
ideas  of  a  country  parish.  If  the  truth  were  known, 
he  had  been  born  and  brought  up  in  much  the  same 
sort  of  a  community  ;  but  he  had  been  a  fly  on  the 
wheel  of  a  large  theological  school,  and  imagined 
himself  to  be  the  possessor  of  a  far  greater  knowl 
edge  of  the  world  and  of  human  nature  than  is  apt 
to  fall  to  the  lot  of  most  men,  especially  clergymen. 
It  is  a  strange  fact  that  the  training  of  that  profes 
sion  aims  so  seldom  at  a  practical  acquaintance  and 
understanding  with  the  fellow-creatures  whom  it  is 
empowered  to  direct  and  advise.  The  theories  which 
are  laid  down  in  books  are  often  as  dangerous  for 
the  clergyman  to  follow  as  for  the  physician. 

Mr.  Stroud  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  spend 
a  few  days  at  the  parsonage,  and  that  evening  he 
opened  his  heart  to  the  minister  in  a  gratifying  way, 
and  spoke  freely  of  his  aims  and  projects. 

"  I  have  been  a  busy  man  until  this  last  summer," 
he  said  ;  "  but  I  have  had  a  serious  illness,  and  my 
physicians  ordered  me  to  free  myself  from  all  busi 
ness  cares.  As  I  have  told  you,  I  am  alone  in  the 
world  ;  and  having  to  leave  New  Orleans  for  a  colder 
climate,  I  did  not  know  at  first  which  way  to  turn. 
I  have  always  had  an  inclination  to  return  to  my  boy 
hood's  home,  if  merely  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  hills  and 


114  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

fields,  and  I  must  confess  that  I  was  quite  unpre 
pared  for  the  affection  that  overcame  me  at  the  sight 
of  the  old  places  and  faces.  I  do  not  think  that  I 
have  much  time  to  live,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  stay  here  and  make  it  my  home  for  the  present,  at 
any  rate.  I  have  had  an  eventful  life,  arid  the  re 
pose  of  such  a  place  as  this  is  eminently  soothing.  I 
am  much  touched  by  the  interest  that  my  coming 
seems  to  have  aroused,  and  I  shall  take  pleasure  in 
trying  to  prove  myself  a  friend  to  these  good  neigh 
bors,  and  a  worthy  member  of  your  church  and  par 
ish." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  dignity  about  Mr.  Stroud, 
and  a  deep  tone  of  humility  and  pathos  when  he 
spoke  of  his  loneliness,  and  of  his  almost  ended  life, 
and  his  desire  to  make  the  most  of  his  last  days, 
which  nearly  overcame  the  little  minister,  arid  he 
grasped  his  new  parishioner's  hand. 

"  I  foresee  a  strong  helper  in  you,  my  dear  sir," 
he  said  softly,  "  in  the  good  work  I  am  trying  to  do. 
I  hope  you  will  command  my  services  as  pastor  and 
friend."  And  a  league  was  formed  between  them. 

As  the  autumn  days  went  on,  Mr.  Stroud  became 
a  familiar  sight,  as  he  drove  or  walked  slowly  along 
the  country  roads.  His  expedition  with  Jonas  Phipps 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  115 

to  the  family  burying-ground  on  the  old  Stroud  farm 
had  resulted  in  his  spending  much  money  in  the  fenc 
ing  and  grading  of  it,  and  the  broken  and  fallen 
stones  were  replaced  or  put  to  rights  carefully.  It 
happened  that  the  present  owners  of  the  farm  had 
built  a  new  house,  and  were  living  more  comfortably 
than  most  people  in  Walton,  and  the  arrangement 
was  made  that  Mr.  Stroud  should  go  there  to  board. 
Mrs.  West,  the  farmer's  wife,  was  much  courted  and 
questioned  by  her  acquaintances ;  and  being  a  some 
what  sentimental  soul,  as  well  as  a  lover  of  a  good 
story,  she  had  many  an  interesting  fact  to  commu 
nicate.  All  the  neighbors  knew  how  many  news 
papers  Mr.  Stroud  took,  and  how  many  letters  he 
had  to  answer ;  what  beautiful  shirts  he  wore,  and 
how  he  gave  next  to  no  trouble,  and  hardly  ever 
could  bear  to  speak  of  his  wife,  and  that  he  liked  a 
dinner  of  boiled  fowls  better  than  most  anything,  and 
every  day  went  down  to  the  burying  lot,  as  if  it  were 
all  he  had  in  the  world.  In  society  he  was  a  very 
agreeable  man  ;  he  talked  well,  though  he  was  rather 
pompous,  and  it  became  the  fashion  to  defer  to  him 
upon  any  questions  of  the  outside  world's  affairs. 

Everybody  followed  this  leader  but  Miss  Lydia 
Dunn.  Strange  to  say,  she  liked  him  less  and  less  ; 
she  was  prejudiced  to  an  unwarrantable  degree.  It 


116  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

made  no  difference  to  her  that  he  made  long  and  elo 
quent  prayers  ;  that  he  was  going  to  give  a  new  li 
brary  to  the  Sunday-school,  and  had  spoken  of  her  as 
the  proper  person  to  select  it  in  company  with  the 
minister.  He  had  called  upon  her  within  a  week  or 
two  of  his  arrival  in  town,  and  from  the  minute  she 
gave  him  the  first  steady  look  out  of  her  sharp-sighted 
eyes,  and  he  turned  away,  a  little  embarrassed,  to  ad 
mire  the  view  from  the  windows,  she  would  join  in 
none  of  the  praise  of  him  with  which  the  air  was 
filled,  and  listened  to  the  petty  gossip  about  his  acts 
and  affairs  with  an  ill-concealed  impatience.  She 
doubted  him,  she  did  not  know  why.  She  reproached 
herself,  and  fought  the  feeling  she  had  toward  him 
most  bitterly  at  first ;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  She 
feared  that  the  townspeople  thought  she  cherished 
the  old  grudge  against  the  name,  and  hated  him  for 
his  father's  sins  ;  but  dislike  and  distrust  him  she  cer 
tainly  did,  and  she  could  not  deceive  other  people  or 
herself. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  she  was  in  the  minor 
ity,  for  all  Walton  treated  him  like  a  king.  His 
money  seemed  to  be  at  everybody's  'service,  when  it 
suited  his  pleasure  to  hear  the  hints  with  which  his 
ears  were  filled.  He  helped  one  farmer  to  lift  a 
mortgage,  with  which  the  recklessness  of  a  dissipated 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  117 

son  had  burdened  him  ;  he  visited  more  than  one 
poor  old  soul,  and  left  a  bank-note  in  her  hand  when 
he  said  good-by.  He  found  a  cousin  of  his  mother 
living  alone,  very  feeble  and  poor,  in  a  dilapidated 
house  in  a  distant  part  of  the  town  ;  and  he  had  the 
house  repaired,  and  hired  a  strong  young  woman  to 
take  care  of  things,  with  the  assurance  that  he  would 
be  responsible  for  all  bills.  He  came  forward  lib 
erally  with  his  subscription  to  every  good  work  that 
was  undertaken,  whether  religious  or  secular,  and 
people  began  to  wonder  how  Walton  had  ever  got  on 
without  him. 

The  announcement  of  his  crowning  piece  of  gener 
osity  came  just  before  Thanksgiving.  Jonas  Phipps, 
whom  Miss  Lydia  Dunn  had  carefully  engaged  to 
come  early  on  the  Monday  morning  to  aid  her  in  the 
severer  duties  of  house-keeping,  came  loitering  down 
the  hill  about  eleven  o'clock,  as  if  nobody  in  the 
world  were  in  the  least  hurry.  Miss  Lydia  had  been 
in  a  blazing  rage  with  him  for  at  least  three  hours, 
and  received  him  in  ominous  silence ;  but  he  sat 
down,  and  dropped  his  hat  beside  him,  and  began  to 
rub  his  lame  leg  diligently. 

"  I  do'  know  's  I  'm  going  to  be  good  for  anything 
this  winter,"  he  whined  dolefully  ;  and  Miss  Dunn 
snapped  him  up  with  exceeding  promptness  :  — 


118  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

"  Folks  would  be  astonished  if  you  was !  " 

"  I  hoped  you  would  n't  lay  it  up  against  me  for 
rny  being  late  this  morning,"  he  apologized.  "  I 
should  ha'  got  here  before  eight,  but  they  hailed  me 
from  the  parsonage.  Mr.  Stroud,  he  was  there 
a'ready,  and  they  said  they  were  going  to  run  the 
lines  for  the  new  vestry  as  soon  as  the  men  come 
from  Walpole." 

"  What  new  vestry  ?  "  asked  Miss  Lydia,  coming 
out  from  the  pantry  with  a  dish  in  her  hand,  ready 
to  forget  all  private  grievances  in  hearing  this  inter 
esting  news. 

"  Then  you  ain't  heard  that  Mr.  Stroud  is  going  to 
build  one  ?  Well,  I  was  only  acquainted  with  the 
facts  this  morning.  I  found  I  could  be  o'  some  use, 
and  I  s'posed  you  would  n't  be  very  particular  about 
having  of  me  round  until  you  were  about  through 
with  the  washing." 

"  Don't  you  know  I  never  wash  the  Monday  of 
Thanksgiving  week  ?  "  and  Miss  Dunn  stood  ready 
again  to  fight  her  own  battles.  "  You  know  just  as 
well  as  I  do  that  I  wanted  you  here  early,  and  now 
I  've  been  so  put  back  in  my  work  that  I  'm  ready  to 
say  I  don't  want  you  to  show  yourself  inside  my 
doors  again.  I  can't  be  so  bothered  and  fretted. 
You  're  worse  than  ever  you  were,  and  there  's  no 
disguising  it." 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  119 

Jonas  gave  a  heavy  sigh.  "  It 's  going  to  be  a 
real  ornamental  building,  I  heard  some  of  'em  say. 
It  '11  set  in  the  far  corner  of  the  lot,  between  them 
two  balm-o'-Gilead  trees.  Mr.  Stroud  was  saying  he 
should  have  liked  to  get  into  it  this  winter,  but  win 
ter  plastering  is  always  a-cracking.  They  're  going 
to  haul  the  stone  for  the  foundation  from  Beckett's 
quarry,  and  they  '11  do  that  right  off.  They  '11  be 
getting  jealous  of  us  over  to  Raynham.  Gives  like 
a  prince,  don't  he  ?  I  tell  you,  we  're  awful  fortunate 
to  have  such  a  man  come  amon^  us.  Mis'  Peckham 

o 

was  saying  yesterday,  when  I  was  over  to  the  par 
sonage,  that  he  'd  give  some  kind  o£  a  hint  to  the 
minister  about  a  new  communion  service." 

"  The  old  one  's  good  enough,"  barked  Miss  Dunn. 
"  I  ain't  one  that  wants  to  do  away  with  all  the 
old  associations.  And,  for  my  part,  I  don't  like  to 
see  anybody  too  good.  My  father  always  used  to 
say,  '  When  you  see  anybody  too  good,  look  out  for 
'em.'  I  don't  know  anything  against  Henry  Stroud, 
but  he  ain't  got  the  mean  Stroud  look  out  of  his  face, 
if  be  has  got  rich  and  pious." 

"  I  thought 't  was  right  to  go  accordin'  to  Scrip- 
tur'  ;  <  By  their  works  ye  shall  know  'em,'  "  Jonas 
suggested  with  considerable  spirit ;  but  he  was  doomed 
to  have  his  loyalty  quenched,  for  Miss  Dunn  retorted 


120  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

that  he  had  better  be  meditating  on  that  verse  for  his 
own  good. 

"  But  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  twitting  you 
or  throwing  disrepute  on  anybody,"  said  the  good 
woman.  "  And  I  tell  you  honest,  Jonas,  I  wish  I 
had  a  more  Christian  feeling  about  that  man.  I 
know  folks  says  it's  jealousy,  and  that  I  ain't  able  to 
forget  his  father's  cheating  my  grandfather  ;  but  if 
I  'd  liked  him,  and  believed  he  was  a  straightforward 
man,  I  never  would  have  thought  of  keeping  any  old 
grievances.  There  ain't  any  of  us  but  has  lived 
down  some  of  our  old  sins  we  're  ashamed  to  think 
of  now,  and  it  's  fair  to  look  at  a  man  as  he  is,  and 
not  go  raking  up  old  matters.  It  seems  to  me  as  if 
he  was  kind  of  buying  his  way  into  heaven  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  as  if  he  liked  to  be  king  of  his  com 
pany,  and  the  big  man  of  the  place,  now  he  's  come 
back  to  it.  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  him  ;  but  as  for 
the  good  he  does,  that  '11  stay  after  him." 

"  You  always  do  have  good  judgment,"  said  Jonas. 
"  I  can't  say  I  got  the  measure  of  him  the  first  time 
I  see  him.  He  had  a  kind  of  meaching  cast  o'  coun- 

o 

tenance,  though  you  can't  tell  by  the  looks  of  a  toad 
how  far  he  '11  jump.  But  when  you  come  to  see  how 
he  spends  his  money  right  and  left,  and  the  good  lie 
does  with  it,  and  hear  how  he  leads  in  prayer,  I  don't 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  121 

see  how  anybody  can  speak  agin  him.  Miss  Singer 
said  it  fetched  the  tears  right  out  o'  her  eyes  to  hear 
him  lamenting  his  sins  as  he  does  in  the  evening 
meeting,  as  if  he  was  the  wickedest  man  there." 

"  Perhaps  he  's  only  telling  the  truth,"  said  Miss 
Dunn,  and  Jonas  rose  in  indignation. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  so  on-Christian  !  " 
he  said.  "  But  there,"  he  added,  in  a  milder  tone, 
"  we  all  have  our  feelin's  about  such  things,  and  I 
do'  know  but  what  it 's  as  well  to  be  honest  about 
'em."  Jonas  could  not  help  being  mindful  of  Miss 
Dunn's  kindness  and  generosity  and  patience,  which 
had  lasted  year  in  and  year  out ;  for  his  slender 
fortunes  would  be  slenderer  still  without  her  assist 
ance.  He  and  his  mother,  a  very  old  and  almost 
helpless  woman,  lived  in  a  house  that  was  one  of  the 
most  ancient  and  shiftlessly  kept  of  any  in  that 
region,  and  Jonas  hardly  ever  descended  the  hill  to 
ward  it  from  Miss  Dunn's  without  some  plate  or 
basket  of  food,  or  other  help  to  the  housekeeping. 
Beside  this  lame  man  and  the  woman  of  nearly 
ninety  years,  there  was  a  little  orphan  niece  of 
Jonas's,  who  was  growing  up  under  that  cheerless 
roof.  There  were  so  few  really  poor  people  in  Wal 
ton  that  great  capital  was  made  of  these ;  and  the 
sewing  society  sewed  for  them,  and  the  church,  of 


122  A   NEW  PARISHIONER. 

which  old  Mrs.  Phipps  had  been  a  somewhat  unsatis 
factory  member,  paid  their  rent,  and  some  bills  be 
side.  Miss  Dunn  did  not  believe  in  making  depend 
ents  and  paupers  of  them.  She  insisted  that  people 
should  work  when  they  could,  and  be  paid  for  it,  and 
unless  Jonas  rendered  her  some  service  she  had  noth 
ing  to  give  him,  though  he  hung  round  despairingly, 
and  rubbed  his  knee  with  no  end  of  devotion  and  ap 
parent  distraction  of  pain. 

As  the  cold  weather  came  on,  it  was  told  sadly 
from  one  parishioner  to  another  that  Mr.  Stroud's 
health  was  failing,  and  he  really  did  look  feeble  and 
old.  The  people  with  whom  he  made  his  home  gave 
dismal  accounts  of  his  sufferings  from  bad  attacks  of 
pain,  and  every  Sunday,  when  he  took  his  seat  in 
church,  pitying  eyes  followed  him.  The  stories  of 
his  generosities  still  went  on.  He  met  the  Phipps 
child  going  home  from  school,  one  November  day, 
and  took  her  into  his  wagon  and  drove  her  to  the 
Walton  store,  where  he  bought  her  a  hood  and  mit 
tens,  and  some  cloth  for  a  dress,  and  a  big  shawl, 
which  never  could  be  folded  small  enough  for  her,  or 
so  that  the  corner  of  it  would  not  trail  on  the  ground 
and  gather  little  sticks.  He  gave  the  minister  an 
encyclopaedia  and  a  new  winter  overcoat,  and  the 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  123 

Sunday-school  library  was  promised,  and  was  to  be 
Mr.  Stroud's  Christmas  present  to  the  Sunday-school. 
The  old  deacons,  who  had  been  for  many  years  chief 
authorities  in  parish  matters,  —  without  whose  slow 
consent  nothing  had  heretofore  been  done,  —  found 
themselves  ignored  and  completely  set  aside.  Every 
thing  was  to  be  done  as  Mr.  Stroud  and  the  minister 
saw  fit.  The  deacons,  no  doubt,  felt  a  certain  sor 
row  at  their  degradation,  but  they  could  only  swim 
with  the  stream,  and  express  their  thankfulness  for 
the  zeal  of  the  brother  who  had  come  among  them. 

o 

Everybody  drifted  with  this  current  but  Miss  Dunn, 
and  at  last  her  antagonistic  feeling  became  a  cause  of 
great  sorrow  to  her.  She  searched  her  heart  for  the 
sin  of  envy  and  malice,  but  with  all  her  prayer  and 
penance  she  could  cultivate  no  better  charity  toward 
her  neighbor.  It  was  curious  that,  in  spite  of  wind 
and  rain,  the  crooked  little  twig  still  clung  to  her 
kitchen  window-sill,  and  looked  in  at  her  every  morn 
ing  as  she  opened  the  shutter.  It  seemed  as  if  it 
held  a  dwarfed  and  wretched  soul  within  its  ragged 
bark  ;  and  our  friend  connected  it  in  her  thoughts, 
she  could  not  tell  why,  with  the  stranger  and  his 
coming.  She  felt  that  she  ought  to  be  charitable, 
and  that  it  was  wicked  to  hate  without  cause  ;  but 
Mr.  Stroud  was  still  outside  the  pale  of  her  affec- 


124  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

tions,  and  the  lilac  twig  that  looked  like  a  man  still 
clung  outside  the  window,  in  the  cold.  She  could 
not  throw  it  away,  but  she  wished  every  morning  that 
it  might  have  blown  away  in  the  night,  and  so  have 
freed  her  from  its  haunting  unpleasantness.  She  had 
not  believed  before  that  she  was  superstitious,  and  al 
together  this  was  a  troubled  time  in  her  life  ;  but  the 
days  grew  shorter  and  shorter,  the  stones  for  the 
foundation  of  the  vestry  went  crawling  up  the  long 
hill,  load  after  load,  and  she  filled  her  cellar  fuller  of 
provisions  than  ever,  and  set  her  face  resolutely  to 
ward  getting  through  another  long,  hard  Walton 
winter. 

It  was  curious  that  Mr.  Stroud  seemed  eager  to 
be  friendly  with  Miss  Dunn.  He  treated  her  with 
great  respect  arid  deference,  and  appeared  to  take  no 
notice  of  her  abrupt  and  slighting  manner  toward 
him,  though  many  of  the  lookers-on  accused  her  of 
disgraceful  rudeness.  She  said  to  herself  many  times 
that  she  would  treat  him  civilly ;  but  she  did  not  al 
ways  succeed,  and  she  became  conscious  that  the 
new  parishioner  was  anxious  to  gain  her  good  will, 
in  spite  of  it.  His  manner  toward  her  was  called 
long-suffering  and  really  Christian  by  his  admirers  ; 
and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  Miss  Dunn  became  un 
popular  with  her  neighbors,  and  felt  herself  to  be 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  125 

alone  on  the  losing  side,  a  most  unhappy  minority  of 
one.  She  would  not  have  believed  that  some  of  the 
people  who  had  always  been  her  friends  could  have 
thrown  off  the  old  ties  so  easily  ;  and  it  hurt  her  pride 
not  a  little,  for  she  had  always  been  a  person  of  great 
consequence  and  influence,  and  had  been  faithful  and 
dutiful  to  the  very  utmost.  She  was  often  slighted 
and  set  aside,  in  these  autumn  days,  and  her  opinions 
were  seldom  sought  or  listened  to.  She  would  have 
been  more  than  human  if  she  had  not  remembered 
how  well  she  had  served  her  towns-folk  in  their  hours 
of  need,  and  had  carried  a  kind  heart  and  ready  hand 
to  help  in  their  days  of  pleasuring,  year  after  year. 
She  felt  very  sorry  when  the  thought  came  to  her 
that  her  friends  were  suspecting  her  of  jealousy. 

Mr.  Stroud  had  been  very  friendly  and  talkative 
when  he  had  called  upon  Miss  Dunn,  soon  after  he 
came  to  Walton,  and  she  had  received  him  with  more 
show  of  interest  than  she  was  able  to  muster  after 
ward.  He  did  not  repeat  the  visit  until  one  after 
noon  in  the  middle  of  December,  when,  with  much 
surprise,  she  saw  him  drive  up  to  the  fence,  and  after 
fastening  his  horse,  cover  him  up  carefully,  as  if 
he  meant  to  make  a  long  call.  Luckily  the  sitting- 
room  was  well  warmed  already  from  the  kitchen,  and 
Miss  Lydia  had  time  to  touch  a  match  to -the  pine- 


126  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

cone  kindlings  of  the  fire  that  was  laid  in  the  Franklin 

o 

stove ;  and  by  the  time  she  had  somewhat  stiffly 
ushered  in  her  guest,  he  could  have  thought  the  fire 
was  already  half  an  hour  old. 

They  talked  about  the  weather,  and  how  the  snow 
kept  off,  and  about  an  old  person  in  the  neighborhood 
who  was  near  death,  and  with  whom  Miss  Dunn  had 
been  watching  ;  and  at  last  there  fell  an  awkward 
silence,  and  the  longer  it  continued  the  harder  it  be- 

'  O 

came  to  say  anything. 

"  I  have  been  much  pained  at  discovering  that  my 
father  was  much  in  fault  toward  your  family,"  said 
Mr.  Stroud  at  last,  with  a  good  deal  of  effort.  "  I 
wish  I  had  known  it  sooner  ;  but  you  will  easily  un 
derstand  that,  leaving  home  early  in  life  as  I  did,  and 
forming  new  associations,  I  knew  nothing  of  it.  I 
am  anxious  now  to  make  restitution.  I  should  have 
done  so  years  ago  if  I  had  known.  I  cannot  say  how 
deeply  I  regret  the  disgrace  "  —  and  the  visitor  looked 
pained  and  troubled  ;  and  as  he  seemed  to  feel  so 
keenly  the  shadow  that  rested  on  his  name,  Miss 
Dunn's  kind  heart  came  to  his  rescue. 

"  I  should  let  bygones  be  bygones,  if  I  was  you," 
she  said.  "  And  your  mother,  you  know,  was  a  most 
excellent  woman  ;  as  good  a  neighbor  as  there  was  in 
Walton.  Yes,  your  father  got  my  grandfather  to 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  127 

sign  for  him,  and  made  promises  to  him  that  he  knew 
was  lies.  It  was  very  hard  on  the  poor  old  gentle 
man,  but  I  don't  put  it  down  against  you,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  there  's  any  account  between  us. 
I  've  got  enough  to  carry  me  through  unless  some 
thing  extra  should  happen.  You  Ve  been  doing  for 
the  good  of  the  parish,  and  so  we  '11  say  no  more 
about  it." 

But  Mr.  Stroud  met  this  generous  speech  —  gener 
ous  in  other  ways  than  in  its  refusal  of  the  payment 
of  a  debt  —  in  a  cold-hearted  way. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  "  but  I  shall  insist 
upon  paying  you  the  amount  of  the  principal,  —  the 
original  sum  that  your  grandfather  lost.  I  should  be 
glad  to  include  the  interest  also,  but  I  fear,  I  am  not 
able  at  this  time,  without  impairing  some  good  work 
that  I  have  hoped  to  do "  —  he  was  about  to  add 
"  in  other  directions,"  but  checked  himself  in  time. 
"  I  will  make  restitution  to  you  so  far  as  I  can,"  and 
the  visitor  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  gave  a 
heavy  sigh.  It  was  very  still  in  the  little  sitting- 
room  ;  the  fire  had  passed  the  ardor  of  its  youth,  and 
the  pine-cones  and  crow-sticks  having  snapped  and 
crackled  away  up  the  chimney,  the  sound  walnut  and 
maple  sticks  were  now  burning  lazily  but  steadily. 
The  picture  of  old  Parson  Dunn  looked  down  sol- 


128  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

emuly  from  the  wall,  and  for  a  minute  his  grand 
daughter  felt  inadequate  to  the  occasion. 

"  If  it  is  to  satisfy  your  own  feelings  and  con 
science,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  shall  put  no  bar  in  your 
way  ;  but  I  see  no  use  in  it  and  no  need  of  it.  I 
will  tell  people  that  you  offered  to  do  it,  and  that  I 
refused  to  take  it,  and  "  — 

"  I  care  nothing  for  the  praise  of  men."  The  guest 
flushed,  and  was  somewhat  nettled  at  this,  and  Miss 
Lydia  felt  that  she  had  spoken  unkindly  in  her  frank 
ness.  She  did  not  know  how  to  soften  her  speech, 
and  said  nothing  ;  wishing  more  and  more  that  Mr. 
Stroud  would  end  this  quixotic  business  call,  and  go 
away. 

She  took  a  good  look  at  him,  and  was  shocked  to 
see  how  much  he  was  changed  and  how  ill  he  looked. 
Her  long  experience  in  taking  care  of  sick  people  had 
made  her  eyes  quick  to  see  the  signs  of  disease,  and 
she  felt  a  thrill  of  pity  for  him  and  shame  for  her 
own  uncharitableness,  and  spoke  again,  more  kindly 
than  before :  — 

"  I  want  you  should  let  bygones  be  bygones,  Mr. 
Stroud." 

"  You  are  most  considerate,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  I 
came  prepared  to  give  you  my  note  for  the  six  thou 
sand  dollars,  with  six  per  cent,  interest  from  date. 


A   NEW  PARISHIONER.  129 

If  I  am  living,  I  will  pay  it  within  a  year  ;  if  not, 
you  will  look  to  my  executors  ; "  and  with  a  most 
impressive  and  solemn  manner  he  drew  a  folded 
paper  from  his  pocket.  Miss  Dunn  looked  at  him 
and  looked  at  the  paper  ;  she  did  not  know  whether 
to  laugh  or  cry. 

She  urged  him  to  stay  to  tea,  when,  after  a  few 
minutes,  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  made  ready  to 
go.  He  looked  about  the  room,  and  appeared  to  be 
struck  by  its  old-fashioned  comfort  and  warm,  plain 
snugness.  "  You  have  a  most  enviable  home,"  he 
said,  in  a  way  that  instantly  suggested  his  being  only 
a  boarder  in  Walton,  and  a  sick  man  at  that.  Miss 
Dunn  stood  by  the  kitchen  window,  and  watched  him 
climb,  with  a  good  deal  of  effort,  into  his  carriage, 
and  afterward  watched  the  wagon  far  down  the  hill 
and  out  of  sight.  Then  she  sat  down,  and  looked  at 
the  note  which  she  been  holding  fast  in  her  hand. 
"  Lord  forgive  me  for  my  wickedness,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  can't  like  that  man,  and  I  never  want  to  touch 
his  money."  She  went  into  the  front  room,  and  laid 
the  bit  of  paper  on  the  table,  and  sat  down  again  and 
looked  at  it.  "  He  lied  when  he  said  he  did  n't 
know  about  it,"  she  told  herself  indignantly.  "  He 
was  a  boy  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  when  it  happened, 
and  nobody  talked  of  anything  else."  But  she 
9 


130  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

thought  for  the  hundredth  time  that  if  he  were  a 
cheat,  somebody  ought  to  have  distrusted  him  beside 
herself ;  and  after  all,  what  had  he  done  but  good 
since  he  came  to  Walton  ? 

For  the  next  day  or  two  it  must  be  confessed  that 
Miss  Dunn's  heart  was  greatly  softened  toward  the 
new  parishioner.  She  thought  of  him  a  great  deal, 
as  she  went  about  her  work,  and  she  kept  herself 
awake  nearly  the  whole  of  one  night,  —  a  thing 
which  seldom  happened  in  connection  with  her  own 
affairs,  though  she  had  lost  many  a  night's  rest  in  the 
interest  of  other  people.  She  said  to  herself  over 
over  and  again  that  she  had  no  right  to  sit  in  judg 
ment,  and  that  she  was  simply  finding  fault  with  the 
man  for  being  himself  and  doing  things  in  his  own 
way.  "  I  might  as  well  blame  the  cat  because  she 
is  n't  a  dog,"  she  told  herself.  "  I  ought  to  wait,  any 
way,  until  Henry  Stroud  does  one  piece  of  mischief 
here  in  Walton."  And  little  by  little,  in  spite  of  her 
instinct,  which  continued  its  quiet  warning,  she  per 
suaded  herself  first  into  toleration,  and  then  into  pity 
and  interest.  For  would  not  she  be  very  well  off 
as  to  money,  since  this  late  repayment  of  a  debt 
had  changed  her  carefully  managed  provision  into  a 
comfortable  property,  and  was  not  Henry  Stroud  the 
cause  of  the  difference  ?  She  had  been  richer  than 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  131 

many  of  her  neighbors,  but  she  had  often  been  anx 
ious  lest  the  end  of  the  year  might  find  her  in  debt ; 
and  the  off-years  of  the  apple  orchard,  and  the  drought 
that  lessened  her  hay-crop,  forced  her  to  self-denials 
and  economies  most  trying  to  her  generous  nature. 
Then  the  thought  of  the  man's  illness  and  failing 
health  would  haunt  her,  and  she  wished  she  had  a 
chance  to  suggest  some  simple  remedies  that  would 
be  likely  to  make  him  more  comfortable.  His  loneli 
ness  appealed  to  her  sympathy,  for  she  knew  the 
hardships  of  it  only  too  well,  though  the  fact  re 
mained  that  nothing  had  ever  tempted  her  to  invite 
another  solitary  woman  to  share  her  home. 

On  the  second  day,  while  the  note  still  lay  un 
touched  on  the  sitting-room  table,  and  when  she  felt 
more  shaken  and  tired  than  was  usual  with  her,  even 
at  her  busiest  seasons,  she  stood  late  in  the  morning 
at  the  kitchen  door.  The  day  was  uncommonly  mild 
for  the  season,  and  the  house  had  seemed  a  little 
lonely.  For  a  wonder,  none  of  the  neighbors  had 
been  in ;  not  even  Jonas  Phipps  had  strayed  along ; 
and  she  had  not  spoken  to  any  one  all  the  day  be 
fore  ;  indeed,  since  she  had  parted  from  Mr.  Stroud 
himself.  She  leaned  against  the  door,  and  looked  up 
and  down  the  road.  She  would  really  have  liked  to 
see  somebody  coming,  with  whom  she  could  exchange 


132  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

greetings ;  but  nobody  was  in  sight,  up  the  hill  or 
down,  and  she  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  then  bestowed 
her  attention  upon  the  bits  of  leaves  and  little  sticks 
that  the  wind  of  the  night  before  had  swept  off  the 
grass  to  the  flagstones,  and  had  piled  against  the  door 
step.  She  thought  it  looked  untidy,  and  briskly  went 
in  again  to  get  her  broom  with  which  to  set  the  dis 
orders  to  rights.  It  was  time  to  take  something  out 
of  the  oven,  and  this  made  a  little  delay  ;  and  when 
she  returned  to  the  outer  world  she  saw  a  wagon 
approaching,  and  saw  also  that  its  driver  was  Mr. 
Stroud. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  dart  back  into  the  kitchen, 
but  it  was  quite  too  late  for  that,  and  she  returned 
the  salutation  with  considerable  friendliness.  Mr. 
Stroud  half  checked  his  horse,  and  there  was  a  mo 
ment  of  awkwardness,  which  Miss  Dunn  ended  by 
speaking  in  flattering  terms  of  the  weather. 

"  Won't  you  get  out  and  come  in  ?  "  she  asked,  be 
ing  possessed  by  a  sense  of  great  obligation  ;  and 
added,  "  I  've  just  taken  a  pan  of  gingerbread  out  of 
the  oven ;  perhaps  you  would  relish  a  piece.  It 's 
what  my  grandmother  used  to  call  betwixt  hay  and 
grass,  as  to  dinner  and  breakfast." 

Mr.  Stroud  seemed  pleased  by  this  unwonted  show 
of  hospitality,  and  turned  his  horse  toward  the  hitch- 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  133 

ing-post  at  once,  while  his  hostess'  heart  misgave  her 
at  the  thought  of  her  fireless  sitting-room,  and  the  lit 
ter  of  pans  and  dishes  that  possessed  the  kitchen 
table.  But  her  guest  appeared  unconscious  of  any 
lack  of  dignity  in  his  reception,  and  took  the  rocking- 
chair  by  the  front  window,  and  proceeded  to  eat  two 
large  pieces  of  the  hot  gingerbread,  which  must  have 
seriously  impaired  his  appetite  for  dinner.  He  looked 
entirely  out  of  place  in  the  kitchen,  however,  and 
made  Miss  Dunn  somewhat  uncomfortable  ;  it  would 
have  suited  her  much  better  if  she  could  have  asked 
him  into  the  sitting-room,  but,  contrary  to  her  usual 
custom,  she  had  kept  the  door  shut  all  the  morn 
ing. 

They  talked  about  nothing  that  was  very  interest 
ing,  with  a  good  deal  of  earnestness.  Miss  Dunn 
had  a  little  feeling  of  embarrassment,  which  was 
doubled  when  Mr.  Stroud,  after  having  declined 
further  supplies  of  gingerbread,  said  in  a  pointed 
way,  "  I  have  enjoyed  thinking  of  my  visit  here  the 
day  before  yesterday." 

" 1  'm  sure  I  was  pleased  to  see  you,"  untruthfully 
responded  Miss  Lydia. 

"  I  think  you  have  a  very  pleasant  home  ;  it  is  a 
thing  for  which  we  cannot  be  too  grateful  to  a  kind 
Providence,"  and  he  sighed  heavily. 


134  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

Miss  Dunn  had  been  afraid  that  he  would  make 
some  allusion  to  the  note  for  six  thousand  dollars, 
and  showed  her  gratitude  at  being  spared  that  by  say 
ing,  "  -How  is  your  health,  Mr.  Stroud  ?  Seems  to 
me  you  have  picked  up  a  little." 

But  Mr.  Stroud  sighed  again,  and  shook  his  head 
oadly.  "  I  don't  seem  to  have  gained,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  of  some  excellent  teas  for  your  com 
plaints,"  she  suggested.  "  Folks  laugh  nowadays  at 
some  o'  the  old-fashioned  remedies,  but  I  must  say  I 
like  'em  as  well  as  any.  I  don't  think  they  ?ve  had 
their  day  yet." 

"  I  should  be  very  grateful  for  help,"  said  the 
guest,  "  and  I  wish  I  could  thank  you  for  your  sym 
pathy  ;  "  and  he  gave  her  a  look  that  said  so  much 
that  it  set  Miss  Lydia's  heart  into  a  great  flutter ;  but 
the  next  minute  she  flushed,  and  was  angry  with  her 
self  for  being  such  a  fool,  and  the  old  feeling  of  dis 
like  and  distrust  crept  over  her,  surely  and  suddenly. 

If  Jonas  Phipps  had  been  the  angel  Gabriel,  she 
could  not  have  been  more  grateful  to  him  for  his 
friendship  and  assistance  in  paying  her  a  morning 
visit  at  that  particular  moment,  and  she  offered  him 
the  plate  of  gingerbread  with  a  feeling  of  real  affec 
tion. 

Jonas  selected  the  largest  piece,  and  disappeared 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  135 

through  the  woodshed  door,  by  which  he  had  entered  ; 
and  Mr.  Stroud  also  took  his  departure,  after  making 
some  further  expressions  of  his  gratitude.  Miss 
Dunn's  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  but  she  sought  Jonas, 
and  offered  him  rebuke  after  rebuke,  until  he  left 
some  long-neglected  wood-splitting  in  self-defense, 
and  went  limping  away  with  a  piece  of  board  and 
two  stakes  and  the  axe,  to  mend  a  broken  place  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  orchard  fence  ;  and  there  he 
dwelt  in  unmolested  safety  until  dinner-time. 

That  afternoon  Miss  Dunn  went  out  on  an  errand 
of  mercy  to  an  invalid  neighbor,  who  lived  a  mile  or 
two  away,  and  did  not  allow  herself  to  think  about 
her  own  affairs  in  peace  until  she  sat  down  alone, 
after  supper.  Then  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done,  and  she  began  to  feel  very  much  upset.  There 
was  an  unmistakable  meaning  and  intention  quite 
separate  from  any  words  that  Mr.  Stroud  had  said 
to  her  that  morning,  and  she  was  both  angry  and 
pleased  together.  She  could  not  fight  down  the  cer 
tainty  that  she  was  no  longer  young,  and  that  she 
was  quite  alone  in  the  world  ;  that  it  would  be  a 
blessed  thing  to  have  some  one  near  her  who  loved 
her  dearly  and  would  take  care  of  her.  It  would 
make  life  a  great  deal  more  interesting  if  she  were 
doing  her  round  of  every-day  work  for  somebody 


136  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

else's  sake,  as  well  as  her  own.  It  would  be  a  great 
victory  won  from  certain  members  of  the  parish,  also 
single  women,  if  she  became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Stroud ; 
and  she  was  not  without  ambition.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  though  he  was  the  greatest  man  in  Wal 
ton,  he  was  still  a  Stroud  ;  and  she  smiled  grimly  as 
she  thought  that  some  of  her  own  ancestors  would  be 
disturbed  in  their  graves  at  the  thought  of  her  marry 
ing  one  of  that  family.  And  it  was  a  doubtful  ques 
tion  whether  she  was  wise  in  undertaking  the  care  of 
a  sick  man  ;  for,  in  spite  of  her  skill  in  nursing,  he 
might  not  be  going  to  spend  much  more  time  in  this 
world.  At  last  she  rose  impatiently,  and  marched 
off  to  bed,  and  said  to  herself  the  last  thing  before 
she  went  to  sleep,  "  I  guess  I  'd  better  wait  until  I  've 
heard  more  about  it,  before  I  begin  to  worry  myself ; 
but  he  need  n't  think  I  'm  going  to  run  after  him  the 
way  some  folks  have." 

She  was  almost  ashamed  when  she  found  herself 
thinking  about  the  new  parishioner  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning,  and  called  herself  an  old  fool ;  but  there 
was,  after  all,  satisfaction  in  the  thought  of  his  ad 
miration  of  her  gingerbread,  and  she  recalled  some 
ignominious  failure  that  Mrs.  West,  his  present  host 
ess,  had  made  in  the  cake  line  at  a  parish  supper,  not 
long  before,  and  she  wondered  if  the  poor  man  were 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  137 

often  treated  to  such  cooking  as  that.  She  went  into 
the  front  room  and  took  up  the  bit  of  paper  which 
he  had  given  her,  and  smoothed  it  out,  and  looked  at 
the  clerkish,  regular  writing  with  interest.  "  I  dare 
say  he  would  have  to  go  to  New  York  and  round  on 
business,"  she  told  herself,  and  then  thought  with 
awe  and  satisfaction  of  his  wealth.  "  I  always  did 
think  I  should  like  traveling,"  she  said ;  and  then 
was  so  angry  with  herself,  that  if  Jonas  had  appeared 
at  that  moment  it  would  have  fared  cruelly  hard  with 
him. 

But  a  little  later  in  the  day  the  tide  of  her  feeling 
turned,  for  Jonas  came  bravely  in  to  offer  his  con 
gratulations  for  her  good  fortune.  Miss  Dunn  had 
not  spoken  of  Mr.  Stroud's  repayment  of  .the  old 
debt  to  any  one.  She  had  known  that  it  would  be 
right  and  just,  and  had  been  girding  up  her  strength 
to  the  fray.  Somebody  else  had  been  before  her, 
and  it  must  have  been  none  other  than  her  benefactor 
himself.  It  will  easily  be  imagined  how  the  story  of 
this  great  piece  of  generosity  flew  from  house  to 
house,  and  Jonas  said  that  everybody  knew  of  it  all 
over  town,  in  answer  to  Miss  Lydia's  startled  in 
quiry.  This  spoiled  everything,  and  the  new  growth 
of  interest  was  crushed,  and  the  world  was  seen  to 
be  the  same  world  as  before,  only  more  in  shadow 


138  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

than  ever,  while  our  friend  hardly  knew  why  she  was 
so  provoked  and  disappointed.  She  said  to  herself 
that  it  was  no  use  to  go  against  your  nature,  and  she 
knew  what  sort  of  a  man  he  was  the  first  time  she 
set  eyes  on  him ;  if  other  folks  did  n't,  the  worst  was 
their  own.  But  she  went  about  the  house  drearily, 
and  Jonas,  who  was  promptly  dismissed,  though  he 
was  sure  she  wished  him  to  fill  a  certain  water  hogs 
head  from  the  orchard  spring,  reported  at  the  next 
neighbor's  that  Miss  Lyddy  was  taking  her  prosperity 
dreadful  hard.  For  his  part,  he  wondered  whether 
she  was  kind  of  mortified,  or  whether  she  was  scared 
to  stay  alone  with  so  much  money  in  the  house. 

It  was  a  great  relief  on  the  next  day,  which  was 
Sunday,  that  there  was  so  deep  a  fall  of  snow  that 
even  so  constant  and  devoted  a  church-goer  as  our 

c3 

heroine  was  obliged  to  stay  at  home.  Though  she 
was  glad  of  this  excuse  from  facing  her  accusing 
neighbors,  they  felt  it  to  be  a  loss  of  entertainment ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  for  the  satisfaction  of  these  de 
ferred  hopes  of  seeing  her  come  into  church  that  the 
Wednesday  evening  meeting  was  uncommonly  well 
attended.  It  was  a  clear,  bright  night,  and  the  Sun 
day's  snow  was  trodden  into  capital  sleighing,  and  as 
good  walking  as  can  ever  be  in  country  roads.  It 
was  a  long  while  since  the  moon  had  had  to  light  so 


^A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  139 

many  Walton  people  to  the  Wednesday  meeting,  and 
it  was  for  anything  but  to  say  their  prayers  together. 
The  new  parishioner  sat  in  his  accustomed  seat 
near  the  pulpit,  and  Miss  Dunn  sat  in  her  old  family 
pew,  which  was  on  the  side  and  faced  the  congrega 
tion.  She  would  not  have  sat  anywhere  else  for  un 
told  ^old.  and  she  made  so  much  effort  to  look  un- 

O  7 

concerned  that  her  cheeks  were  red  with  excitement, 
and  her  hands  shook  when  she  held  the  hymn-book. 
Mr.  Peckham  spoke  with  great  feeling  of  his  pleas 
ure  at  meeting  so  large  a  congregation,  and  Mr. 
Stroud  prayed,  and  two  women  made  an  ostentatious 
use  of  their  pocket-handkerchiefs  for  several  minutes 
afterward.  The  old  deacons  followed  in  their  turn, 
the  hymns  were  sung,  and  the  meeting  was  possessed 
of  a  good  deal  more  fervor  than  usual.  Mr.  Peck- 
ham  had  read  a  few  verses  from  the  book  of  the  Rev 
elation,  and  was  explaining  them  earnestly.  Miss 
Dunn  had  felt  as  if  this  meeting  were  to  be  in  some 

o 

way  personal  and  condemnatory  of  herself  ;  but  as 
the  hour  went  on  she  quite  recovered  her  self-posses 
sion,  and  the  horrors  of  her  position  as  regarded 
Walton  society  became  much  less. 

At  the  last  of  the  evening,  while  Mr.  Stroud  him 
self  was  speaking,  she  heard  the  door  of  the  church 
open,  and  looking  around  she  saw  two  men  come 


140  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

quickly  in  and  seat  themselves  in  the  pew  nearest 
the  door.  From  her  own  pew  at  the  side  of  the 
church  she  could  look  up  and  down  the  aisle,  and  she 
saw  these  strangers  give  a  little  nod  at  each  other, 
and  look  amused  as  they  listened  to  the  speaker. 
She  loitered  in  her  pew  for  a  few  minutes  after  the 
meeting  was  over,  as  was  her  habit,  and  spoke  to  one 
and  another  of  her  friends  as  usual.  She  had  a  great 
anxiety  riot  to  do  anything  uncommon,  and  when  she 
was  half-way  down  the  aisle  she  felt  herself  to  have 
regained  her  equilibrium.  Old  Mrs.  Bangs,  who  was 
waiting  by  the  stove  for  the  deacon  to  get  his  horse 
ready,  and  bring  him  round  from  the  rail  to  the 
church  door,  caught  at  her  sleeve  as  she  went  by, 
and  after  speaking  about  the  meeting  and  some  gen 
eral  matters  added  bluntly,  "  Well  Lyddy,  you  can't 
say  anything  against  Mr.  Stroud,  now.  I  'm  sure  he 
has  done  handsome  by  you." 

u  I  Ve  never  meant  to  say  anything  against  him," 
answered  Miss  Dunn ;  "  but  I  think  he  was  foolish 
to  do  what  he  has.  I  tried  to  persuade  him  out  of 
it,  I  'm  sure."  And  just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Stroud 
and  the  minister  came  by,  when  Miss  Dunn,  who  had 
for  a  few  moments  forgotten  the  two  strangers,  no 
ticed  with  surprise  that  they  were  still  in  the  pew 
next  the  door. 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  141 

One  of  them  stepped  forward  aiid  spoke  to  Mr. 
Stroud,  who  looked  disturbed  and  shocked.  He 
leaned  back  against  the  wall,  and  acted  as  if  he  were 
much  in  despair.  The  two  men  watched  him,  and 
seemed  to  be  waiting,  and  it  was  only  a  minute  be 
fore  he  turned  to  Mr.  Peckham,  and  said,  —  Miss 
Dunn  being  so  near  that  she  heard  every  word,  — 
"  I  find  I  must  take  a  long,  cold  journey  to-night 
My  presence  is  needed  in  New  York,  and  I  must  go 
at  once  to  catch  the  train  at  Walpole." 

Mr.  Peckham  expressed  his  sorrow  for  this,  his 
friend  being  so  feeble  and  sensitive  to  cold.  He  said 
a  good  deal  in  trying  to  urge  him  to  wait  until  morn 
ing  ;  but  after  one  look  at  the  grim  messengers,  Mr. 
Stroud  politely  waived  the  arguments,  and  buttoned 
up  his  overcoat  and  went  out  into  the  moonlight 
night.  One  of  the  strangers  got  into  the  sleigh  with 
him,  and  the  other  followed  alone  ;  and  that  was  the 
last  that  was  seen  of  the  New  Parishioner,  and  the 
last  of  his  illustrious  reign  in  Walton. 

"  My  conscience  !  "  said  Jonas  Phipps,  one  day 
early  in  the  spring,  when  he  made  his  first  appear 
ance  at  Miss  Dunn's  after  a  long  illness.  "  How 
come  you  to  see  through  that  cheat,  when  all  the  rest 
of  us  was  so  taken  in  ?  I  don't  know  's  Mr.  Peck- 


142  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

ham  is  ever  going  to  git  over  it.  We  all  took  him 
to  be  spending  money  by  the  fistful,  and  most  of  it 
was  nothing  but  givin'  his  note  and  saying  i  Charge 
it  to  me,'  as  if  he  was  the  great  Lord  Gull.  Nobody 
had  any  kind  of  doubt  but  what  his  pockets  was  lined 
with  money.  Not  but  what  it  wa'n't  a  kind  of  dread 
ful  thing  that  he  should  ha'  died  all  alone  in  his  bed 
over  there  to  Walpole.  I  s'pose  't  was  that  long 
ride  in  the  cold  and  his  being  upset  by  the  officers 
pouncing  on  to  him  so,  —  right  in  the  meeting-house. 
He  did  spend  some  honest  money  though  :  I  can 
think  o'  four  or  five  hundred  dollars  he  left  in  one 
place  and  another  whilst  he  was  here." 

Miss  Dunn  said  nothing,  and  after  reflecting  a 
while  Jonas  went  on  :  — 

"He  was  gifted  in  prayer  more  than  most,  now, 
was  n't  he  ?  I  think,  being  a  sick  man,  and  knowing 
it,  after  he  defaulted  down  South  there,  he  thought 
he  would  be  as  religious  as  he  could  while  he  had 
time.  He  must  have  felt  as  safe  here  as  anywhere. 
They  pronounced  his  name  different  down  South,  you 
know.  Strude  they  called  it ;  and  somebody  was 
telling  me  folks  thought  it  was  likely  he  'd  been  go 
ing  under  another  name,  any  way.  Land  !  there  's 
all  that  foundation  stone  for  the  vestry  laying  up 
there  on  the  meetin'  house  yard.  I  wonder  when 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  143 

they  're  going  to  raise.  And  the  parish  's  got  to  pay 
for  that  new  library  he  gave  it  for  a  Christmas  pres 
ent.  Eun  an  awful  rig,  did  n't  he  ?  I  was  surprised 
when  they  told  me  his  wife  had  left  him,  'stead  of  her 
being  dead,  as  we  thought  all  along.  I  Ve  sometimes 
thought  he  was  a  little  sprung.  How  he  did  strut 
about,  and  all  the  women  made  everything  of  him 
but  you,"  said  Jonas,  trying  to  turn  a  pretty  compli 
ment  to  Miss  Dunn's  discretion.  "  I  wonder  who 
paid  the  bills  for  his  funeral  ?  Nobody  seemed  to 
know  at  the  time." 

"  It  was  just  as  well  if  they  did  n't,"  said  Lydia 
Dunn,  looking  a  little  conscious.  "  Now,  Jonas 
Phipps,  we  've  both  got  work  to  do,  and  lives  to  live, 
and  that  poor  creature  's  gone  to  his  last  account ; 
we  have  n't  any  business  with  him,  as  I  know  of. 
He  could  n't  help  being  a  Stroud,  and  the  sins  he 
could  help  he  's  had  a  chance  to  be  ashamed  of  be 
fore  this.  For  my  part,  I  don't  want  to  hear  another 
thing  about  him.  But  I  do  thank  my  stars  I  never 
made  a  fool  of  myself,  and  I  wish  others,  for  their 
sakes,  could  say  as  much.  I  guess  I  had  trouble  o' 
mind  enough  to  last  me  one  while.  I  don't  know  as 
some  folks  knows  what  honesty  is :  you  might  as  well 
blame  a  black  and  white  cat  for  not  being  a  good 
mouser." 


144  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

u  How  's  that  little  gray  cat  turned  out,  you  started 
to  raise  along  in  the  winter  ? "  interrupted  Jonas, 
earnestly  ;  and  Miss  Dunn  replied,  not  without  a 
smile,  that  she  seemed  to  be  a  likely  kitten. 

"  Any  way,  folks  thinks  a  sight  of  your  opinion," 
said  Jonas  again.  "  And  mother,  she  sticks  to  it 
you  did  me  a  sight  more  good  than  the  doctor.  She 
says  I  never  should  ha'  pulled  through  if  it  had  n't 
"been  for  the  time  you  spent  a-watching  of  me,  and 
them  things  you  recommended.  I  guess  everybody 
has  to  allow  that  in  the  long  run  you  've  done  more 
good  than  Stroud,"  and  grateful  Mr.  Phipps  rubbed 
his  eyes  with  his  coat  sleeve.  "  I  told  the  minister 
so  last  time  he  come  to  see  me.  '  Rising  sixty  year,' 
says  I,  '  she  's  been  doing  of  good  works  ! ' '  But  at 
this  Miss  Lydia  looked  displeased.  "  He  's  dreadful 
ashamed,  now,  about  having  took  up  with  Stroud  so. 
4  Talk  's  cheap,'  says  I  to  Mr.  Peckham,  '  and  Stroud 
was  great  on  talk.'  " 

"  Now,  Jonas  Phipps,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "  there 
was  nobody  who  kept  round  Henry  Stroud  any  closer 
than  you  did.  You  always  were  telling  me  how  rich 
he  was,  and  how  much  he  gave  away,  and  every 
thing  he  'd  been  doing,  and  what  an  addition  he  was 
to  the  place." 

"  It  did  look  like  it  for  a  time,"  said  Jonas,  humbly. 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  145 

u  Even  you  would  ha'  liked  him  if  you  could,  but 
your  good  judgment  would  n't  allow.  Seems  dread 
ful  dull  since  I  got  about  again,  not  hearing  anything 
about  his  goin's-on.  Asa  Singer  was  telling  of  me, 
as  I  come  up  the  hill,  —  he  called  me  in  to  get  me 
to  try  a  bar'l  of  cider  they  'd  just  tapped  for  spring 
use,  he  said  there  wa'n't  an  apple  in  it  but  what  was 
sound,  and  it  did  go  to  the  right  spot,  I  tell  ye,  — 
Asa  was  telling  of  me  that  a  bill  come  from  some- 

o 

wheres  South  only  yesterday.  I  wonder  what  he  'd 
V  done  if  he  had  n't  died ;  they  all  say  he  had  n't 
much  money  by  him." 

Miss  Dunn  felt  a  sense  of  nearness  to  the  edge  of 
a  precipice.  She  often  remembered,  in  these  days, 
that  she  had  taken  at  least  one  step  in  a  most  dan 
gerous  direction.  She  had  called  herself  names  all 
winter  long,  and  felt  like  a  hypocrite  when  people 
complimented  her  on  her  superior  discretion.  It  is 
a  most  humiliating  thing  to  lose  one's  self-respect, 
and  she  never  could  forget  that  for  a  few  hours  she 
had  been  in  peril  of  defeat,  and  of  being  bought  over, 
like  the  rest.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  glance  at 
the  temptation,  and  she  could  make  no  excuse  for 
herself.  The  Lord  had  made  her  a  woman,  to  be 
sure,  but  she  need  not  have  been  a  silly  one. 

Jonas  went  on  with  his  reflections  :  "  I  can't  be- 
10 


146  A  NEW  PARISHIONER. 

lieve  but  what  he  'd  done  better  if  he  'd  had  a  longer 
chance.  He  was  a  great  hand  for  a  meeting,  and  he 
seemed  to  want  to  do  well  by  everybody  ;  but  they 
say  he  'd  had  to  clear  out  from  three  or  four  places 
running,  and  some  thinks  he  may  have  got  the  money 
he  spent  here  by  gambling." 

"  It 's  no  kind  of  use  to  make  a  man  out  worse 
than  he  is,"  said  Miss  Dunn,  angrily,  u  and  for  my 
part  I  am  sick  to  death  of  hearing  about  Henry 
Stroud.  I  hoped  it  had  blown  over  a  little,  but  I 
suppose  it 's  natural  you  should  want  to  take  your 
turn  at  it.  First,  folks  was  all  pecking  at  me  be 
cause  I  would  n't  bow  down  and  worship  him,  and 
now  they  want  me  to  throw  rocks  at  his  tomb-stone. 
They  go  just  like  a  pack  of  sheep  over  a  stone  wall ; 
one  gets  her  nose  over,  and  all  the  rest  think  they  've 
got  to  die  if  they  don't  follow.  He  's  gone  to  his  last 
account,  and  we  'd  better  let  him  alone." 

It  was  easy  enough  to  say  this,  but  the  subject  con 
tinued  to  be  an  interesting  one,  and  provoked  fre 
quent  discussions  for  many  months  afterward,  in  that 
neighborhood.  It  was  some  time  before  the  resi- 

o 

dents  of  surrounding  towns  could  resist  asking  such 
Walton  people  as  ventured  to  stray  away  from  home 
what  had  become  of  the  great  man  they  used  to  have 
over  there,  or  if  they  had  moved  into  the  new  vestry 
yet. 


A  NEW  PARISHIONER.  147 

As  for  the  twig  at  the  window,  the  outer  blind  got 
loose  one  windy  winter  night,  and  struck  against  it 
and  set  it  free,  and  it  was  blown  along  the  frozen 
snow  far  down  the  hill  and  out  of  sight ;  and  in  the 
morning  Miss  Dunn  felt  lighter-hearted,  because  she 
missed  it  from  its  place.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  growing  old  and  notional.  She  had  felt  as  young 
as  ever  until  that  winter,  for  her  girlhood  had  been 
a  dutiful  and  quiet  one.  It  was  fortunate  that  she 
found  so  much  to  do  inside  her  house  and  out,  and 
everybody  said  that  her  front  yard  was  the  hand 
somest  in  Walton  that  summer  ;  the  flowers  bloomed 
in  great  splendor,  and  her  two  best  china  vases  from 
the  parlor  mantel-piece  were  filled  for  the  adornment 
of  the  pulpit  Sunday  after  Sunday.  Even  Jonas 
Phipps  did  not  suspect,  as  he  toiled  in  her  company, 
that  sad  thoughts  often  assailed  her,  and  could  not  be 
driven  away  either  by  a  double  diligence  in  her  soli 
tary  housekeeping,  or  by  her  painstaking  care  that 
the  garden  pinks  and  lilies  should  be  untroubled  by 
weeds. 


AN  ONLY  SON. 


IT  was  growing  more  and  more  uncomfortable  in 
the  room  where  Deacon  Price  had  spent  the  greater 
part  of  a  hot  July  morning.  The  sun  did  not  shine 
in,  for  it  was  now  directly  overhead,  but  the  glare  of 
its  reflection  from  the  dusty  village  street  and  the 
white  house  opposite  was  blinding  to  the  eyes.  At 
least  one  of  the  three  selectmen  of  Dalton,  who  were 
assembled  in  solemn  conclave,  looked  up  several  times 
at  the  tops  of  the  windows,  and  thought  they  had 
better  see  about  getting  some  curtains. 

There  was  more  business  than  usual,  but  most  of 
it  belonged  to  the  familiar  detail  of  the  office ;  there 
were  bills  to  pay  for  the  support  of  the  town's-poor 
and  the  district  schools,  and  afterward  some  discus 
sion  arose  about  a  new  piece  of  road  which  had  been 
projected  by  a  few  citizens,  who  were  as  violently  op 
posed  by  others.  The  selectmen  were  agreed  upon 
this  question,  but  they  proposed  to  speak  in  private 
with  the  county  commissioners,  who  were  expected  to 


AN  ONLY  SON.  149 

view  the  region  of  the  new  highway  the  next  week. 
This,  however,  had  been  well  canvassed  at  their  last 
meeting,  and  they  had  reached  no  new  conclusions 
since ;  so  presently  the  conversation  flagged  a  little, 
and  Deacon  Price  drummed  upon  the  ink-spattered 
table  with  his  long,  brown  fingers,  and  John  Kendall 
the  grist-miller  rose  impatiently  and  went  to  the  small 
window,  where  he  stood  with  blinking  eyes  looking 
down  into  the  street.  His  well-rounded  figure  made  a 

o 

pleasant  shadow  in  that  part  of  the  room,  but  it 
seemed  to  grow  hotter  every  moment.  Captain  Abel 
Stone  left  his  chair  impatiently,  and  taking  his  hat 
went  down  the  short  flight  of  stairs  that  led  to  the 
street,  knocking  his  thick  shuffling  boots  clumsily  by 
the  way.  He  reached  the  sidewalk,  and  looked  up 
and  down  the  street,  but  nobody  was  coming  ;  so  he 
turned  to  Asa  Ball  the  shoemaker,  who  was  standing 
in  his  shop-door. 

"  Business  is  n't  brisk,  I  take  it  ?  "  inquired  the  cap 
tain  ;  and  Mr.  Ball  replied  that  he  did  n't  do  much 
more  than  tend  shop,  nowadays.  Folks  would  keep 
on  buying  cheap  shoes,  and  thinking  they  saved  more 
money  on  two  pair  a  year  for  five  dollars  than  when 
he  used  to  make  'em  one  pair  for  four.  "  But  I  make 
better  pay  than  I  used  to  working  at  my  trade,  and 
so  I  ain't  going  to  fret,"  said  Asa  shrewdly,  with  a 


150  AN  ONLY  SON. 

significant  glance  at  a  modest  pile  of  empty  cloth- 
boot  boxes ;  and  the  captain  laughed  a  little,  and  took 
a  nibble  at  a  piece  of  tobacco  which  he  had  found 
with  much  difficulty  in  one  of  his  deep  coat  pockets. 
He  had  followed  the  sea  in  his  early  life,  but  had  re 
turned  to  the  small,  stony  farm  which  had  been  the 
home  of  his  childhood,  perhaps  fifteen  years  before 
this  story  begins.  He  had  taken  as  kindly  to  inland 
life  as  if  he  had  never  been  even  spattered  with  sea 
water,  and  had  been  instantly  given  the  position  in 
town  affairs  which  his  wealth  and  character  merited. 
He  still  retained  a  good  deal  of  his  nautical  way  of 
looking  at  things.  One  would  say  that  to  judge  by 
his  appearance  he  had  been  well  rubbed  with  tar  and 
salt,  and  it  was  supposed  by  his  neighbors  that  his  old 
sea-chests  were  guardians  of  much  money  ;  he  was 
overrated  by  some  of  them  as  being  worth  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  with  the  farm  thrown  in.  He  was 
considered  very  peculiar,  because  he  liked  to  live  in 
the  somewhat  dilapidated  little  farmhouse,  and  some 
of  his  attempts  at  cultivating  the  sterile  soil  were  the 
occasion  of  much  amusement.  He  had  made  a  large 
scrap-book,  during  his  long  sea-voyages,  of  all  sorts 
of  hints  and  suggestions  for  the  tillage  of  the  ground, 
gleaned  from  books  and  newspapers  and  almanacs, 
and  nobody  knows  where  else.  He  had  pasted  these 


AN  ONLY  SON.  151 

in,  or  copied  them  in  his  stiff,  careful  handwriting, 
and  had  pleased  himself  by  watching  his  collection 
grow  while  he  was  looking  forward  through  the  long, 
storm-tossed  years  to  his  quiet  anchorage  among  the 
Dalton  hills.  He  was  a  single  man,  and  though  a 
braver  never  had  trod  the  quarter-deck,  from  motives 
of  wisest  policy  he  seldom  opposed  his  will  to  that  of 
Widow  Martha  Hawkes,  who  had  consented  to  do 
him  the  great  favor  of  keeping  his  house. 

"  Havin'  a  long  session  to-day,  seems  to  me,"  ob 
served  the  shoemaker,  with  little  appearance  of  the 
curiosity  which  he  really  felt. 

"  There  was  a  good  many  p'ints  to  be  looked  over," 
answered  Captain  Stone,  becoming  aware  that  he  had 
secrets  to  guard,  and  looking  impenetrable  and  un 
concerned.  "  It 's  worked  into  a  long  drought,  just 
as  I  said  —  I  never  took  note  of  a  drier  sky  ;  don't 
seem  now  as  if  we  ever  should  get  a  sprinkle  out  of 
it,  but  I  suppose  we  shall ;  "  and  he  turned  with  a 
sigh  to  the  door,  and  disappeared  again  up  the  narrow 

I  stairway.  The  three  horses  which  were  tied  to  ad 
jacent  posts  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun  all  hung  their 

r  ancient  heads  wearily,  and  solaced  their  disappoint 
ment  as  best  they  might.  They  had  felt  certain, 
when  the  captain  appeared,  that  the  selectmen's  meet 
ing  was  over.  If  they  had  been  better  acquainted 


152  AN  ONLY  SON. 

with  politics  they  might  have  wished  that  there  could 
be  a  rising  of  the  opposition,  so  that  their  masters 
would  go  out  of  office  for  as  many  years  as  they  had 
come  in. 

The  captain's  companions  looked  up  at  him  ea 
gerly,  as  if  they  were  sure  that  he  was  the  herald  of 
the  expected  tax-collector,  who  was  to  pay  a  large 
sum  of  money  to  them,  of  which  the  town  treasury 
was  in  need.  It  was  close  upon  twelve  o'clock,  and 
only  a  very  great  emergency  would  detain  them  be 
yond  that  time.  They  were  growing  very  hungry  ? 
and  when  the  captain,  after  a  grave  shake  of  his 
head,  had  settled  into  his  chair  again,  they  all  felt 
more  or  less  revengeful,  though  Deacon  Price  showed 
it  by  looking  sad.  One  would  have  thought  that  he 
was  waiting  with  reluctance  to  see  some  punishment 
descend  upon  the  head  of  the  delaying  official. 

"  Well,  Mis'  Hawkes  will  be  waiting  for  me,  and 
she  never  likes  that,"  said  Captain  Stone  at  last ;  and 
just  at  that  minute  was  heard  the  sound  of  wheels. 

"  Perhaps  it 's  my  mare  stepping  about,  —  she  's 
dreadful  restive  .in  fly- time,"  suggested  Mr.  Kendall, 
and  at  once  put  his  head  out  of  the  window ;  but 
when  he  took  it  in  again,  it  was  to  tell  his  fellow-of 
ficers  that  Jackson  was  coming,  and  then  they  all  sat 
solemnly  in  their  chairs,  with  as  much  dignity  as  the 


AN   ONLY  SON.  153 

situation  of  things  allowed.  Their  judicial  and  gov 
ernmental  authority  was  plainly  depicted  in  their  ex 
pression.  On  ordinary  occasions  they  were  not  re 
markable,  except  as  excellent  old-fashioned  country 
men  ;  but  when  they  represented  to  the  world  the 
personality  and  character  of  the  town  of  Dalton,  they 
would  not  have  looked  out  of  place  seated  in  that 
stately  company  which  Carpaccio  has  painted  in  the 
Reception  of  the  English  Ambassadors.  It  was  Dai- 
ton  that  was  to  give  audience  that  summer  day,  in  the 
dusty,  bare  room,  as  Venice  listens  soberly  in  the  pic 
ture. 

They  heard  a  man  speak  to  his  horse  and  leap  to 
the  ground  heavily,  and  then  listened  eagerly  to  the 
clicks  and  fumbling  which  represented  the  tying  of 
the  halter,  and  then  there  were  sounds  of  steps  upon 
the  stairway.  The  voice  of  Mr.  Ball  was  heard,  but 
it  did  not  seem  to  have  attracted  much  attention,  and 
presently  the  long-waited-for  messenger  was  in  the 
room.  He  was  dusty  and  sun-burnt,  and  looked  good- 
naturedly  at  his  hosts.  They  greeted  him  amiably 
enough,  and  after  he  had  put  his  worn  red  handker 
chief  away  he  took  a  leather  wallet  from  his  pocket, 
and  looking  at  a  little  roll  of  bills  almost  reluctantly, 
turned  them  over  with  lingering  fingers  and  passed 
them  to  Mr.  Kendall,  who  sat  nearest  him,  saying 
that  he  believed  it  was  just  right. 


154  AN  ONLY  SON. 

There  was  little  else,  said,  and  after  the  money  had 
again  been  counted  the  meeting  was  over.  There  had 
indeed  been  a  hurried  arrangement  as  to  who  should 
guard  the  treasury,  but  when  Deacon  Price  had  ac 
knowledged  that  he  meant  to  go  to  South  Dalton  next 
morning,  he  was  at  once  deputed  to  carry  the  remit 
tance  to  the  bank  there,  where  the  town's  funds 
and  many  of  its  papers  already  reposed.  The  deacon 
said  slowly  that  he  did  n't  know  as  he  cared  about 
keeping  so  much  money  in  the  house,  but  he  was  not 
relieved  by  either  of  his  colleagues,  and  so  these  hon 
est  men  separated  and  returned  to  private  life  again. 
Their  homes  were  at  some  distance  from  each  other ; 
but  for  a  half  mile  or  so  Deacon  Price  followed  Cap 
tain  Stone,  and  a  cloud  of  dust  followed  them  both. 
Then  the  captain  turned  to  the  left,  up  toward  the 
hills  ;  but  Deacon  Price  kept  on  for  some  distance 
through  the  level  lands,  and  at  last  went  down  a  long 
lane,  unshaded  except  here  and  there  where  some  am 
bitious  fence  stakes  had  succeeded  in  changing  them 
selves  into  slender  willow-trees.  In  the  spring  the 
sides  of  the  lane  had  been  wet,  and  were  full  of 
green  things,  growing  as  fast  as  they  could ;  but  now 
these  had  been  for  some  time  dried  up.  The  lane 
was  bordered  with  dusty  mayweed,  and  three  deep 
furrows  were  worn  through  the  turf,  where  the 


AN  ONLY  SON.  155 

wagon  wheels  and  the  horse's  patient  feet  had  trav 
eled  back  and  forward  so  many  years.  The  house 
stood  at  the  end,  looking  toward  the  main  road  as  if 
it  wished  it  were  there  ;  it  was  a  low-storied  white 
house,  with  faded  green  blinds. 

The  deacon  had  tried  to  hurry  his  slow  horse  still 
more  after  he  caught  sight  of  another  horse  and 
wagon  standing  in  the  wide  dooryard.  He  had  en 
tirely  forgotten  until  that  moment  that  his  niece  and 
housekeeper,  Eliza  Storrow,  had  made  a  final  an 
nouncement  in  the  morning  that  she  was  going  to 
start  early  that  afternoon  for  the  next  town  to  help 
celebrate  a  golden  wedding.  Poor  Eliza  had  been 
somewhat  irate  because  even  this  uncommon  season 
of  high  festival  failed  to  excite  her  uncle's  love  for 
society.  She  had  made  him  run  the  gauntlet,  as 
usual  on  such  occasions,  by  telling  him  successively 
that  he  took  no  interest  in  nobody  and  nothing,  and 
that  she  was  sure  she  should  n't  know  what  to  say 
when  people  asked  where  he  was  ;  that  it  looked  real 
unfeeling  and  cold-hearted,  and  he  could  n't  expect 
folks  to  show  any  interest  in  him.  These  arguments, 
with  many  others,  had  been  brought  forward  on  pre 
vious  occasions  until  the  deacon,  knew  them  all  by 
heart,  and  he.  had  listened  to  them  impassively  that 
morning,  only  observing  cautiously  to  his  son  that 


156  AN  ONLY  SON. 

Eliza  must  go  through  with  just  so  much.  But  he 
had  promised  to  come  back  early  from  the  village, 
since  Eliza  and  the  cousin  who  was  to  call  for  her 
meant  to  start  soon  after  twelve.  It  was  a  long 
drive,  and  they  wished  to  be  in  good  season  for  the 
gathering  of  the  clans. 

He  left  the  horse  standing  in  the  yard  and  went 
into  the  house,  feeling  carefully  at  his  inner  coat 
pocket  as  he  did  so.  Eliza  had  been  watching  for 
him,  but  the  minute  he  came  in  sight  she  had  left  the 
window  and  begun  to  scurry  about  in  the  pantry. 
The  deacon  did  not  stop  to  speak  to  her,  but  went 
directly  to  his  bedroom,  and  after  a  moment's  thought 
placed  the  precious  wallet  deep  under  the  pillows. 
This  act  was  followed  by  another  moment's  reflec 
tion,  and  as  the  old  man  turned,  his  son  stood  before 
him  in  the  doorway.  Neither  spoke  ;  there  was  a 
feeling  of  embarrassment  which  was  not  uncommon 

o 

between  them ;  but  presently  the  young  man  said, 
"  Eliza  's  been  waiting  for  you  to  have  your  dinner ; 
she  's  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  off.  I  '11  be  in  just  as 
quick  as  I  take  care  of  the  horse." 

"  You  let  her  be  ;  I  '11  put  her  up  myself/'  said 
the  deacon,  a  little  ungraciously.  "  I  guess  Eliza  '11 
be  there  soon  enough.  I  should  n't  think  she  'd  want 
to  start  to  ride  way  over  there  right  in  the  middle  of 


AN  ONLY  SON.  157 

the  day."  At  another  time  he  would  have  been 
pleased  with  Warren's  offer  of  aid,  for  that  young 
man's  bent  was  not  in  what  we  are  pleased  to  call  a 
practical  direction.  As  he  left  the  kitchen  he  no 
ticed  for  the  first  time  Mrs.  Starbird,  who  sat  by  the 
farther  window  dressed  in  her  best,  and  evidently 
brimming  over  with  reproachful  impatience.  Deacon 
Price  was  a  hospitable  man,  and  stopped  to  shake 
hands  with  her  kindly,  and  to  explain  that  he  had 
been  delayed  by  some  business  that  had  come  before 
the  selectmen.  He  was  politely  assured  that  the 
delay  was  not  of  the  least  consequence,  for  Mrs. 
Starbird  was  going  to  drive  the  colt,  and  could  make 
up  the  lost  time  on  the  road.  As  they  stood  talking, 
Eliza's  footsteps  were  heard  behind  them,  and  with 
out  turning  or  deigning  to  enter  into  any  conversa 
tion  with  his  niece  the  deacon  went  out  into  the 
bright  sunlight  again. 

Warren  had  preceded  him  after  all,  and  was  un 
fastening  one  of  the  traces,  and  his  father  unbuckled 
the  other  without  a  word.  u  You  go  in  and  have 
your  dinner,  —  why  won't  you,  father?"  the  young 
man  said,  looking  up  appealingly.  "  You  need  n't 
be  afraid  but  I  '11  do  this  all  right." 

"  I  declare,  I  was  grieved  when  I  saw,  as  I  come 
up  the  lane,  that  you  had  n't  mended  up  the  fence 


158  AN  ONLY  SON. 

there  where  I  told  you  this  forenoon.  I  had  to  be 
off,  and  there  's  the  two  calves  right  into  the  garden 
piece,  and  I  don't  know  what  works  they  've  been 
and  done.  It  does  seem  too  bad,  Warren." 

The  son  had  worn  a  pleased  and  almost  triumphant 
look,  as  if  he  had  good  news  to  tell,  but  now  his  face 
fell,  and  he  turned  crimson  with  shame  and  anger. 
"  I  would  n't  have  forgot  that  for  anything  ! "  he 
stammered.  "  I  've  been  hurrying  as  fast  as  I  could 
with  something  I  've  been  doing  —  I  'm  going  off  " 
—  but  his  father  had  already  stepped  inside  the  barn 
door  with  the  hungry  horse,  and  it  was  no  use  to  say 
any  more.  Presently  the  deacon  went  into  the  house 
and  ate  his  dinner,  and  after  the  few  dishes  had  been 
washed,  and  Eliza  had  told  him  about  the  bread  and 
a  piece  of  cold  boiled  beef  and  a  row  of  blueberry 
pies  and  the  sheet  of  gingerbread  which  she  had  pro 
vided  for  the  family's  sustenance  in  her  absence,  she 
added  that  she  might  not  be  back  until  early  Wednes 
day  morning,  and  then  she  drove  away  in  triumph 
with  cousin  Starbird.  It  was  the  first  outing  the 
good  woman  had  had  for  more  than  a  year,  except 
for  half  a  day  or  so,  and  the  deacon  wished  her  good- 
day  with  real  affection  and  sympathy,  having  already 
asked  if  she  had  everything  she  wanted  to  carry  over, 
and  finally  he  desired  his  respects  to  be  given  to  the 


AN  ONLY  SON.  159 

folks.  He  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  house  and 
watched  her  all  the  way  down  the  lane  until  she 
turned  into  the  main  road,  and  Eliza  herself  was 
much  pleased  as  she  caught  sight  of  him.  She  waved 
her  hand  gallantly,  to  which  he  responded  by  an  al 
most  imperceptible  inclination  of  the  head  and  at 
once  turned  away.  "  There  ain't  a  better  man  alive," 
said  cousin  Starbird,  whipping  the  elderly  colt ;  "  he 's 
as  set  as  anybody  I  ever  see,  in  his  own  ways,  but 
he  's  real  good  hearted.  I  don't  know  anybody  I  'd 
look  to  quicker  than  him  if  I  got  into  misfortune. 
He  's  aged  a  good  deal  this  last  year,  don't  you  think 
he  has,  'Liza  ?  Sometimes  I  feel  sure  that  Warren's 
odd  notions  wears  on  him  more  than  we  think." 

"  Course  they  do,"  said  Eliza,  throwing  back  the 
shawl  which  she  had  felt  obliged  to  put  on  at  first, 
out  of  respect  to  the  occasion.  "  His  father  's  mind 
ful  of  Warren  every  hour  in  the  day.  He  is  getting 
more  and  more  helpless  and  forgitful,  and  uncle  's 
growing  feeble,  and  he  ain't  able  either  to  hire  help 
or  to  do  the  farm  work  himself.  Sometimes  Warren 
takes  holt  real  good,  but  it  ain't  often  ;  and  there  he 
sets,  up  in  that  room  he  's  fixed  over  the  wood-house, 
and  tinkers  all  day  long.  Last  winter  he  used  to  be 
there  till  late  at  night ;  he  took  out  one  o'  the  win 
dow  panes  and  set  a  funnel  out  through,  and  used  to 


160  AN  ONLY  SON. 

keep  a  fire  going  and  a  bright  light  up  there  till  one 
or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  His  father  never 
slept  a  wink,  I  don't  believe.  He  looks  like  a  man  of 
hard  on  to  eighty,  and  he  wa'n't  but  sixty-seven  his 
last  birthday.  I  guess  Warren  's  teased  him  out  of 
about  all  the  bank  money  he  had  long  ago.  There  ! 
I  used  to  get  interested  myself  in  Warren's  notions 
about  his  machines,  but  now  I  can't  bear  to  hear  him 
begin,  and  I  go  right  into  the  pantry  and  rattle  round 
as  if  I  was  drove  to  pieces." 

"  I  suppose  his  father  has  indulged  him  more,  see 
ing  that  he  was  so  much  younger  than  all  the  rest  of 
his  children,  and  they  being  dead  anyway.  I  de 
clare,  I  never  see  such  a  beautiful  creatur'  as  War 
ren's  mother  was.  I  always  thought  she  was  kind 
of  homesick  here  ;  't  was  a  lonesome  place  to  me,  al 
ways,  and  I  never  counted  on  its  being  healthy.  The 
deacon  's  begun  to  look  kind  o'  mossy,  and  I  don't 
think  it  's  all  worry  o'  mind.  It  's  kind  of  low  land 
and  it 's  always  been  called  fevery."  Cousin  Starbird 
was  apt  to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  things.  u  You 
can't  always  see  the  marks  o'  trouble,"  she  went  on. 
"  There  was  old  John  Stacy,  that  lost  three  children 
in  one  day  with  scarlet  fever,  the  fall  after  his  wife 
died  ;  then  his  house  got  afire,  and  the  bank  failed 
where  his  property  was.  Job  himself  could  n't  be 


AN  ONLY  SON.  161 

no  worse  off ;  and  he  took  on  dreadful,  as  one  thing 
after  another  come  upon  him,  but  there  wa'n't  a 
younger  appearing  man  of  his  age  anywhere  at  the 
time  he  died.  He  seemed  to  spring  right  up  again, 
like  a  bent  withe.  I  always  thought  it  was  a  kind  of 
a  pity  that  the  deacon  did  n't  push  Warren  right  off 
while  he  was  young.  He  kept  him  to  home  trying 
to  make  a  farm-boy  of  him  till  he  was  a  grown  man." 
"  Warren  used  to  beseech  him  dreadfully  to  let 
him  go  off,  when  I  first  come  over  to  live,"  said  Eliza 
Storrow.  u  He  had  a  great  notion  of  working  in 
some  kind  of  a  machine  shop,  and  they  said  that  there 
wa'n't  so  smart  a  workman  there  as  he  was  ;  but  he 
got  a  notion  that  he  could  improve  on  one  of  the 
machines,  and  he  lost  his  interest  in  workin'  his 
trade,  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  he  spent  a  sight 
o'  money  to  get  a  patent,  and  found  somebody  had 
stepped  in  with  another  just  the  week  before.  It 
was  an  awful  mean  thing,  too,  for  some  thought  it 
was  his  notion  that  had  been  stole  from  him.  There 
was  a  fellow  that  boarded  where  he  did,  to  Lowell, 
that  left  all  of  a  sudden,  and  they  thought  he  took 
the  plan,  —  Warren  being  always  free  and  pleasant 
with  him,  —  and  then  let  somebody  else  have  part 
of  it  to  get  the  patent  through  ;  anyway  it  was  n't 
called  for  in  any  name  they  knew ;  Warren  was 
11 


162  AN   ONLY  SON. 

dreadful  discouraged  about  it,  and  was  set  against 
folks  knowing,  so  don't  you  never  say  nothing  that  I 
said  about  it.  I  think  he  's  kind  of  crazed  about 
machinery,  and  I  don't  believe  he  knows  what  he  's 
about  more  than  half  the  time.  He  never  give  me  a 
misbeholden  word,  I  '11  say  that  for  him,  but  it 's  get 
ting  to  be  a  melancholy  habitation  if  ever  I  see  one," 
said  Eliza,  mournfully  ;  and  after  this  the  conversa 
tion  turned  to  more  hopeful  themes  relating  to  the 
golden  wedding. 

The  deacon  had  sighed  as  he  turned  away.  He 
had  wondered  if  they  would  make  the  twelve-mile 
journey  in  safety,  and  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  as 
he  remembered  an  old  story.  He  wished  he  had  re 
minded  them  of  those  two  old  women  who  were 
traveling  from  Dalton  to  Somerset,  and  forgot  where 
they  came  from,  and  what  their  names  where,  and 
where  they  were  going.  After  this  hidden  spring  of 
humor  had  bubbled  to  the  surface  a  little  too  late  for 
anybody's  enjoyment  but  his  own,  he  relapsed  into 
his  usual  plaintive  gravity,  and,  bringing  a  hammer 
and  nails  and  some  stakes  from  the  wood-house,  he 
went  out  to  mend  the  broken  fence.  It  had  been 
patched  and  propped  before,  and  now  seemed  hardly 
to  be  repaired.  The  boards  and  posts  had  rotted 
away,  and  the  gamesome  calves  had  forced  a  wide 


AN  ONLY  SON.  163 

breach  in  so  weak  a  wall.  It  was  a  half  afternoon's 
work,  and  the  day  was  hot,  but  the  tired  old  man  set 
about  it  unflinchingly,  and  took  no  rest  until  he  had 
given  the  topmost  rail  a  shake  and  assured  himself 
that  it  would  last  through  his  day.  He  had  brought 
more  tools  and  pieces  of  board,  and  he  put  these  to 
gether  to  be  replaced.  Just  as  he  had  begun  his 
work  he  had  caught  sight  of  his  son  walking  quickly 
away,  far  beyond  the  house,  across  the  pastures. 
The  deacon  had  given  a  heavy  sigh,  and  as  he  had 
hammered  and  sawed  and  built  his  fence  again,  there 
had  been  more  than  one  sigh  to  follow  it,  for  had  not 
this  only  sou  grown  more  helpless  and  useless  than 
ever  ?  There  seemed  little  to  look  forward  to  in  life. 

The  garden  was  being  sadly  treated  and  hindered 
by  the  drought ;  the  beets  and  onions  were  only  half 
grown,  and  the  reliable  old  herb-bed  seemed  to  have 
given  up  the  fight  altogether.  In  one  place  there 
had  once  been  a  flower-bed  which  belonged  to  War 
ren's  mother,  but  it  was  almost  wholly  covered  with 
grass.  Eliza  had  no  fondness  for  flowers,  and  the 
two  men  usually  were  unconscious  that  there  were 
such  things  in  the  world.  But  this  afternoon  the 
deacon  was  glad  to  see  a  solitary  sprig  of  London 
Pride,  which  stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  gray 


164  AN  ONLY  SON. 

post  by  the  little  garden  gate.  It  sent  a  bright  ray 
of  encouragement  into  the  shadow  of  his  thoughts, 
and  he  went  on  his  way  cheerfully.  He  told  himself 
that  now  he  would  attend  to  the  wagon  wheels,  be 
cause  he  should  need  to  start  early  in  the  morning, 
in  order  to  get  home  before  the  heat  of  the  day  ;  it 
was  a  hot  piece  of  road  from  here  to  the  south  vil 
lage.  He  wondered  idly  where  Warren  had  gone ; 
he  was  glad  he  had  not  asked  for  money  that  day, 
but  he  had  done  questioning  his  son  about  his  plans, 
or  even  the  reason  of  his  occasional  absences. 

The  side  door,  which  led  into  the  kitchen,  was 
shaded  now,  and  a  slight  breeze  seemed  to  be  com 
ing  across  the  level  fields,  so  the  deacon  sat  down  on 
the  doorstep  to  rest.  The  old  cat  came  out  as  if  she 
wished  for  company,  and  rubbed  against  his  arm  and 
mewed  without  making  any  noticeable  sound..  She 
put  her  fore-feet  on  the  old  man's  knee  and  looked 
eagerly  in  his  face  and  rnewed  again  inaudibly,  and 
her  master  laughed  and  wondered  what  she  wanted. 
"  I  suppose  the  cellar  door  is  locked  and  bolted,  and 
you  want  to  go  down,"  said  the  deacon,  "  that 's  it, 
ain't  it?  I  should  ha'  thought  'Liza  would  have 
rec'lected  about  them  kittens,  should  n't  you  ?  "  and 
pleasing  himself  with  the  creature's  companionship, 
he  rose  and  entered  the  house.  The  cat  trotted 


AN  ONLY  SON.  165 

alongside  and  disappeared  quickly  down  the  stair 
way,  and,  moved  by  some  strange  impulse,  Deacon 
Price  went  into  bis  bedroom  to  make  sure  that  the 
wallet  was  safe  under  the  pillow.  He  did  not  reach 
it  at  first,  and  he  groped  again,  thinking  that  he  had 
forgotten  he  pushed  it  so  far  under.  But  although 
he  eagerly  threw  off  the  clothes  and  the  pillows,  and 
shook  them  twice  over,  and  got  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees  and  crept  under  the  bed,  and  felt  an  odd 
singing  noise  grow  louder  and  louder  in  his  head, 
and  at  last  became  dizzy  and  dropped  into  the  near 
est  chair,  there  was  no  wallet  to  be  found. 

At  last  he  crept  out  into  the  empty  kitchen,  where 
the  only  sound  was  made  by  a  fly  that  buzzed  dis 
mally  in  a  spider's  web.  The  air  was  close  and  hot 
in  the  house,  and  as  the  eld  man  stood  in  the  door 
way  it  seemed  as  if  there  had  some  change  come  over 
his  whole  familiar  world.  He  felt  puzzled  and  weak, 
and  at  first  started  to  go  out  to  the  wagon  with  the 
vain  hope  of  finding  the  lost  purse  ;  it  might  be  that 
he  —  but  there  was  no  use  in  imagining  that  he  had 
done  anything  but  put  it  carefully  under  the  pillow, 
that  his  son  had  stood  in  the  doorway  as  he  lifted  his 
head,  and  that  the  money  was  gone.  It  was  no  use 
to  deceive  himself,  or  to  hunt  through  the  house  ;  he 
had  always  before  his  eyes  the  picture  of  the  pasture 


166  AN  ONLY  SON. 

slope  with  the  well-known  figure  of  his  son  following 
across  it  the  path  that  led  to  the  nearest  railroad  sta 
tion,  a  mile  or  two  away. 

The  daylight  waned  slowly,  and  the  heat  of  the 
sun  lingered  late  into  the  night.  Poor  John  Price 
went  through  with  his  usual  duties  mechanically,  but 
with  perfect  care,  and  he  made  the  doing  of  his  work 
last  as  long  as  he  could.  The  pig  and  the  chickens 
and  the  horse  were  fed  ;  then  there  were  the  cows  to 
bring  in  from  pasture  and  to  be  milked  ;  and  at  last 
the  poor  man  even  remembered  the  cat,  and  gave  her 
a  saucer  of  milk  for  her  supper  ;  but  still  it  would 
not  grow  dark,  and  still  the  shame  and  sorrow  weighed 
him  down.  In  his  restlessness  he  went  through  the 
lower  rooms  of  the  house,  and  opened  the  front  door 
and  shut  it  again,  and  looked  into  the  stiff  little  best 
room,  and  felt  as  if  he  were  following  the  country 
custom  so  familiar  to  him,  of  watching  with  the  dead. 

He  did  not  get  much  sleep  either,  in  the  uncom 
fortable  bed  which  he  had  tried  to  put  into  some  sort 
of  order  before  he  lay  down.  Once  he  prayed  aloud 
that  the  Lord  would  vouchsafe  him  a  miracle,  and 
that  he  might  find  his  trust  again,  and  what  was  still 
more  precious,  his  confidence  in  his  only  son.  For 
some  reason  he  could  not  bear  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice ;  and  the  thought  of  his  time-honored  office  in 


AN  ONLY  SON.  167 

the  church  pained  him,  for  was  it  not  disgraced  and 
made  a  reproach  ? 

Little  by  little  the  first  sharpness  of  the  shock 
wore  away,  and  he  tried  to  think  what  was  to  be 
done.  The  thought  seized  him  that  his  son  might 
have  left  some  explanation  of  his  going  away,  and  he 
rose  and  took  a  candle  and  went  to  the  little  work 
shop.  There  was  less  than  the  usual  litter  of  cog 
wheels  and  springs  and  screws,  but  somehow  in  the 
hot  little  room  a  feeling  of  reassurance  and  almost  of 
hope  took  possession  of  him.  It  might  be  that  War 
ren's  hopes  would  not  be  disappointed,  that  he  might 
be  able  to  repay  the  stolen  sum,  that  he  had  only  se 
creted  it,  and  would  return  later  and  give  it  back ; 
for  the  poor  deacon  assured  himself  over  and  over 
that  he  would  talk  about  the  boy's  affairs  with  him, 
and  try  again  to  aid  him  and  to  put  him  into  a  likely 
way  at  last,  even  if  he  had  to  mortgage  the  farm. 

But  in  the  morning,  if  there  was  still  no  sign  of 
the  lad,  what  could  be  done  ?  The  money  which 
Jerry  Jackson  had  owed  the  town  as  tax-collector, 
and  paid  at  last  that  very  day,  —  that  seven  hundred 
dollars ;  the  five  hundred  dollar  bill  and  the  two  that 
stood  for  a  hundred  each,  and  some  smaller  bills 
which  were  to  pay  the  interest,  —  how  should  they 
be  replaced?  He  had  no  ready  money  of  any 


168  AN  ONLY  SON. 

amount,  nor  would  have  until  the  pay  came  for  some 
hay,  or  unless  he  could  persuade  a  neighbor,  whose 
payments  were  honest  but  slow,  to  take  up  a  note 
given  for  a  piece  of  outlying  woodland  sold  the  win 
ter  before. 

All  through  that  long  summer  night  he  worried 
and  waited  for  the  morning,  and  sometimes  told  him 
self  that  his  only  son  had  robbed  him,  and  sometimes 
said  that  Warren  would  never  serve  him  like  that, 
and  when  he  came  home  it  would  be  all  made  right. 
The  whippoorwills  were  singing  about  the  house,  and 
one  even  came  to  perch  on  the  kitchen  doorstep  and 
make  its  accusing  cry.  The  waning  moon  rose  late, 
and  made  a  solemn  red  light  in  the  east,  and  shone 
straight  in  at  the  little  bedroom  window  as  if  it  were 
a  distant  bale-fire  on  the  hills.  A  little  dog  kept  up 
a  fierce  barking  by  the  next  farmhouse,  far  away 
across  the  fields,  and  at  last  the  tired  man  was  ready 
to  think  his  miserable  wakefulness  was  the  fault  of 
the  cur.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  had  given  Warren  all  the 
money  he  could,  he  had  meant  well  by  the  boy,  and 
surely  now,  unless  the  poor  fellow  had  gone  mad, 
there  would  be  some  way  out  of  all  this  trouble ;  at 
any  rate  he  would  not  let  other  people  have  a 
chance  to  call  his  son  a  thief  until  there  was  no  help 
for  it. 


AN  ONLY  SON.  169 

The  next  morning,  after  a  short,  uneasy  sleep,  from 
which  the  deacon  had  a  sad  awaking,  he  hungrily  ate 
some  breakfast  at  the  pantry  shelves,  and  harnessed 
the  old  horse,  and  set  out  on  a  day's  journey  of  which 
he  hardly  knew  the  end.  He  shut  the  door  of  the 
house,  and  locked  it,  and  gave  a  look  of  lingering  af 
fection  at  the  old  place,  even  stopping  the  horse  for 
a  minute  in  the  lane  that  he  might  turn  to  survey  it 
again  most  carefully.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  going  to 
do  it  wrong,  and  as  if  it  were  a  conscious  thing,  the 
old  weather-beaten  dwelling  that  had  sheltered  him 
all  his  life,  and  those  who  had  been  dearest  to  him. 
It  had  no  great  attractions  for  a  stranger.  It  was  a 
representative  house  for  that  somewhat  primitive 
farming  region,  though  it  had  fallen  out  of  repair, 
and  wore  a  damaged  and  resourceless  aspect.  Tho 
appearance  of  a  man's  home  is  exactly  characteristic 
of  himself.  Human  nature  is  more  powerful  than  its 
surroundings,  and  shapes  them  inevitably  to  itself. 

It  was  still  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  few  per 
sons  were  stirring.  In  fact,  Deacon  Price  met  no 
body  on  the  road  except  a  sleepy  boy  following  his 
cows  to  pasture,  and  he  did  not  feel  like  looking  even 
him  in  the  face,  but  gave  a  pull  at  the  reins  to  hurry 
the  horse  and  pass  by  the  quicker.  He  took  a  cross 
road  that  was  cool  and  shady  at  that  hour,  and  while 


170  AN  ONLY  SON. 

he  journeyed  slowly  up  the  rough  by-way  he  let  the 
horse  choose  its  own  course  without  guidance.  Some 
birds  were  crying  and  calling  in  the  woods  close  by, 
as  if  it  were  altogether  a  day  of  ill  omen  and  disaster. 
John  Price  felt  more  and  more  as  if  his  world  was 
coming  to  an  end,  and  everything  was  going  to  pieces. 
He  never  had  understood  his  son  very  well ;  there 
are  some  people  who  are  like  the  moon,  always  with 
one  side  hidden  and  turned  away,  and  Warren  was 
only  half  familiar  to  his  father.  The  old  man  had 
been  at  first  inclined  to  treat  his  bright  boy  with  a 
sort  of  respect  and  reverence,  but  in  later  years  this 
had  changed  little  by  little  to  impatience  and  suspi 
cion.  It  had  been  a  great  mortification  that  he  had 
been  obliged  to  maintain  him,  and  once  when  some 
body,  pe'rhaps  Eliza  Storrow,  had  been  commenting 
upon  a  certain  crop  of  wild  oats  which  a  neighboring 
lad  had  arranged  for  his  harvesting,  the  deacon  was 
heard  to  mutter,  "  Better  them  than  no  crop  at  all !  " 
Yet  he  had  never  suffered  his  acquaintances  to  com 
ment  upon  his  son's  behavior  ;  his  own  treatment  of 
him  in  public  had  insisted  upon  the  rendering  of  re 
spect  from  other  people,  but  he  had  not  acknowledged 
to  himself,  until  this  last  sad  night,  that  there  was  no 
practical  result  to  be  hoped  for  from  Warren's  gifts 
and  graces.  This  might  have  been  borne,  and  they 


AN   ONLY  SON.  171 

might  have  struggled  on  together,  somehow  or  other, 
but  for  the  terrible  blow  of  the  theft  of  the  town's 
money,  which  had  left  a  debt  and  sorrow  on  the  old 
man's  shoulders  almost  too  heavy  to  be  borne. 

In  a  short  time  the  woods  .were  passed  and  the 
road  led  out  to  a  pleasant  country  of  quite  a  different 
character  from  the  lowland  neighborhood  left  behind. 
There  were  gently  sloping  hills  and  long  lines  of 
elms,  and  the  farms  looked  more  prosperous.  One 
farm  only  on  this  road  was  unproductive,  and  it  was 
partly  the  fault  of  art,  and  partly  of  nature,  for  this 
was  the  homestead  of  Captain  Stone,  a  better  sailor 
than  farmer.  Its  pastures  were  gathering-places  for 
the  ledges,  and  its  fields  had  been  made  swampy  by 
many  springs.  It  seemed  to  be  the  waste  corner  of 
that  region  for  all  unused  and  undeveloped  materials 
of  farming  land  ;  but  while  there  was  every  requisite, 
there  was  a  chaotic  and  primitive  arrangement  or  no- 
arrangement.  Yet  the  captain  had  settled  down  here 
in  blissful  content  as  a  tiller  of  the  soil ;  and  while  he 
might  have  bought  the  best  farm  in  the  county,  he 
congratulated  himself  upon  his  rare  privileges  here, 
and  would  have  found  more  level  and  kindly  acres  as 
uninteresting  as  being  becalmed  in  tropic  seas.  He 
worked  his  farm  as  he  had  sailed  his  ships,  by  using 
tact  and  discretion,  and  with  true  seaman's  philoso- 


172  AN   ONLY  SON. 

phy  he  never  fretted.  He  waited  for  the  wind  to 
change,  or  the  tide  of  spring  to  flow,  or  of  winter  to 
ebb,  for  he  had  long  ago  learned  there  was  no  hurry 
ing  nature ;  and  to  hear  him  talk  of  one  of  his  small 
plots  of  thin  hay  or  slow-growing  potatoes,  you  would 
have  thought  it  an  intelligent  creature  which  existed 
mainly  on  his  benevolent  encouragement  and  toler 
ance.  By  some  persons  the  captain  was  laughed  at, 
arid  by  others  he  was  condemned.  The  trouble  was 
that  he  had  a  shrewd  insight  into  human  nature,  and 
was  so  impossible  to  deceive  or  to  persuade  against  his 
will  that  he  had  made  many  enemies,  who  had  hoped 
to  grow  rich  by  emptying  the  good  old  man's  pockets. 
It  was  to  this  lifelong  friend  that  Deacon  Price 
had  turned  in  his  extremity  ;  but  as  he  drew  nearer 
that  morning  to  the  red  house  on  the  hilltop,  his 
heart  began  to  fail  him,  for  what  if  he  should  be  re 
fused  !  There  seemed  no  other  resource,  in  such  a 
case,  but  to  make  the  sad  occurrence  known,  or  to  go 
away  in  search  of  Warren  himself.  He  could  put 
the  deeds  of  his  farm,  those  worn  deeds  that  had 
come  down  from  father  to  son  generation  after  gen 
eration,  into  the  hands  of  the  other  selectmen,  who 
would  be  sure  to  stand  his  friends  and  keep  the  secret 
for  a  time.  Warren  had  looked  discouraged,  and 
pale,  and  desperate  in  the  last  month,  and  his  father 


AN  ONLY  SON.  173 

suddenly  remembered  this,  and  groaned  aloud  as  he 
wished  that  the  boy  had  come  to  him,  and  that  he 
had  made  it  possible,  instead  of  coldly  ignoring  and 
disapproving  him  day  after  day  ;  such  a  mixture  of 
wrath  and  shame  and  compassion  has  seldom  been  in 
a  father's  heart. 

The  captain  was  abroad  early,  and  the  deacon  saw 
him  first,  sauntering  about  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  on 
which  his  house  and  buildings  stood.  He  seemed  to 
be  examining  the  soil,  and  greeted  his  guest  with  a 
hearty  satisfaction.  The  deacon  slowly  alighted,  and 
leaving  his  trusty  steed  to  gnaw  the  fence  or  browse 
among  the  bushes  as  she  chose,  went  into  the  field. 
He  walked  feebly,  and  when  he  met  the  captain  he 
could  hardly  find  words  to  tell  his  errand.  Men  of 
his  kind  are  apt  to  be  made  silent  by  any  great  oc 
currence  ;  they  have  rarely  anything  but  a  limited 
power  of  expression,  and  their  language  only  serves 
them  for  common  use.  Those  who  have  lived  close 
to  nature  understand  each  other  without  speech,  as 
dogs  or  horses  do,  and  the  elder  generations  of  New 
Englanders  knew  less  of  society  and  human  com 
panionship  and  association  than  we  can  comprehend. 

The  captain  had  watched  his  visitor  as  he  came 
toward  him,  and  when  they  met  he  gave  one  quick, 


174  AN  ONLY  SON. 

final  look,  and  then  proceeded  to  make  use  of  his 
usual  forms  of  greeting,  as  if  he  had  no  idea  that 
anything  was  the  matter. 

"  I  've  taken  a  notion  to  set  out  some  cramb'ries 
hereabouts,  another  year,"  he  announced.  "  I  never 
made  a  voyage  to  sea  without  cramb'ries  aboard,  if  I 
could  help  myself.  They  last  well,  and  taste  sprightly 
when  other  things  is  begun  to  lose  savor.  I  don't 
cut  any  hay  to  speak  of,  in  this  piece.  I  Ve  been 
meaning  to  tackle  it  somehow,  —  see  here,"  —  push 
ing  it  with  his  great  foot,  —  "  it 's  all  coming  up 
brakes  and  sedge.  I  do'  know  's  you  want  to  be 
standing  about  —  it  is  master  spongy  for  good  grass 
land,  and  't  would  be  a  great  expense  to  drain  it  off. 
I  s'pose  I  'm  gettin'  too  old  to  try  any  of  these  new 
notions,  but  they  sort  of  divert  me.  We  're  having 
a  bad  spell  o'  drought,  ain't  we  ?  'T  is  all  tops  of 
rocks  about  here,  and  we  're  singed  pretty  brown." 
The  captain  chattered  more  briskly  than  was  his 
wont ;  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  mistake  that 
he  was  a  sailor,  for  indeed  that  business  stamps  its 
followers  with  an  unmistakable  brand. 

They  had  ventured  upon  a  wetter  spot  than  usual, 
and  when  the  deacon  pulled  up  his  foot  from  the  mire 
underneath  with  a  resounding  plop,  his  host  proposed 
that  they  should  seek  the  higher  ground. 


AN  ONLY  SON.  175 

"  Pretty  smart  at  home  ?  "  asked  the  captain  pres 
ently,  to  end  a  season  of  strange  silence,  and  the 
deacon  replied,  at  first  somewhat  sorrowfully,  that 
they  were  middling,  but  explained  directly  that  Eliza 
was  away  for  a  couple  o'  nights,  and  Warren  too  ;  it 
cost  a  great  effort  to  speak  the  young  man's  name. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  rec'lect,"  growled  the  captain,  amiably. 
"  You  spoke  about  the  golden  weddin'  yisterday ;  I 
should  thought  you  'd  ha'  gone  too,  along  with  'Liza ; 
such  junkets  ain't  to  be  had  every  day.  I  must  say 
I  wish  something  or  other  would  happen  to  take  Mis' 
Hawkes's  attention  off  of  me,"  dropping  his  voice 
cautiously,  as  they  came  nearer  to  the  house.  "  She 's 
had  a  dreadful  grumpy  time  of  it,  this  week  past,  and 
looked  homely  enough  to  stop  a  clock.  I  used  to  be 
concerned  along  in  the  first  of  it,  when  I  come  off 
the  sea,  but  I  found  it  did  n't  do  no  hurt,  and  so  I  let 
her  work,  and  first  thing  you  know  the  wind  is 
veered  round  again  handsome,  and  off  we  go." 

The  deacon  tried  to  laugh  at  this ;  they  had  seated 
themselves  on  the  off  side  of  the  woodpile,  under  the 
shade  of  a  great  choke-pear  tree.  They  had  mounted 
the  chopping-block,  which  was  a  stout  elm  log,  stand 
ing  on  six  legs,  so  that  it  looked  like  some  stupid, 
blunderheaded  creature  of  not  altogether  harmless 
disposition.  The  two  old  men  were  quite  at  its  mercy 


176  AN  ONLY  SON. 

if  it  should  canter  away  suddenly ;  but  they  talked  for 
some  minutes  on  ordinary  subjects,  and  even  left  their 
position  to  go  to  inspect  the  pigs,  and  returned  again, 
before  the  deacon  arrived  at  an  explanation  of  his 
errand. 

It  was  a  hard  thing  to  do,  and  the  captain  turned 
and  looked  at  him  narrowly. 

"  I  've  got  to  use  the  money  right  away  as  soon  as 
I  can  have  it.  I  want  to  see  to  some  business  this 
forenoon  ;  you  know  I  Ve  been  calc'latin'  to  go  to 
the  South  village  to-day  anyway.  I  did  n't  know  for 
certain  I  should  have  to  see  about  this,  or  I  would  n't 
have  given  you  such  short  notice  "  —  and  here  the 
deacon  stopped  again  ;  it  had  come  very  near  an  un 
truth,  this  last  sentence,  and  he  would  not  cheat  the 
man  of  whom  he  was  asking  so  great  a  favor. 

"  I  did  n't  fetch  the  papers  along  because  I  did  n't 
know  how  't  would  be  with  you,"  he  explained ; 
"  they  '11  make  you  safe.  Austin's  folks  was  talking 
round,  this  spring,  to  see  if  I  wanted  to  part  with  our 
north  field  ;  his  youngest  son  's  a  smart  fellow,  and 
wants  to  set  up  for  himself  and  have  a  truck  farm. 
But  I  'm  only  asking  the  loan  for  a  time,  ye  know, 
neighbor,"  and  the  deacon  looked  anxiously  at  the 
old  captain,  and  then  leaned  over,  poking  the  chips 
about  with  the  butt  of  his  whip,  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  the  wagon. 


AN   ONLY  SON.  177 

"You  shall  have  it,"  said  the  captain  at  last. 
"  'T  ain't  everybody  I  'd  do  such  a  thing  to  obleege, 
and  I  am  only  going  to  have  my  say  about  one  thing, 
John  :  I  never  had  no  family  of  my  own,  and  I  sup 
pose  the  feelin's  of  a  father  are  somethin'  I  don't 
know  nothing  about,  for  or  against ;  but  I  must  say  I 
hate  to  see  ye  an  old  man  before  your  time,  runnin' 
all  out  and  looking  discouraged  on  account  o'  favorin' 
Warren.  You  '11  come  in  astern  o'  the  lighter,  and 
he  too ;  and  if  he  's  been  beseechin'  ye  to  get  this 
money  together  to  further  his  notions,  I  'm  doing  ye 
both  a  wrong  to  let  ye  have  it.  But  I  can't  deny  ye, 
and  I  've  got  more  than  what  ye  say  ye  want,  right 
here  in  the  house  as  it  happens.  I  was  going  to  buy 
into  that  new  three-masted  schooner  the  Otises  have 
got  on  the  stocks  now  ;  I  don't  know  but  I  am  getting 
along  in  years  to  take  hold  of  anything  new  in  navi 
gation." 

"  I  ain't  intending  to  let  Warren  have  none  o' 
this,"  said  the  deacon,  humbly,  and  he  longed  to  say 
more,  and  felt  as  if  he  never  could  hold  up  his  head 
again  among  his  fellows ;  and  the  time  seemed  very 
long  and  dreary  before  the  captain  came  back  from 
his  house  with  the  note  ready  to  sign,  and  the  eight 
hundred  dollars  ready  to  place  in  the  deacon's  gray 
and  shaking  hand.  His  benefactor  pondered  long 
12 


178  AN  ONLY  SON. 

over  this  strange  visit,  longing  to  know  what  had 
happened,  but  he  assured  himself  over  and  over  that 
he  could  n't  help  letting  him  have  it,  and  if  never  a 
cent  of  it  came  back  there  was  nobody  he  was  glad 
der  to  oblige.  And  John  Price  took  his  weary  way 
to  the  South  village  of  Dalton  and  paid  a  sum  of 
seven  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars  to  the  creditors 
of  the  town.  It  was  not  until  early  in  the  afternoon 
that  old  Abel  Stone  suddenly  bethought  himself  that 
something  might  have  happened  about  that  payment 
of  Jerry  Jackson's.  If  he  were  not  growing  old  and 
a  fool  at  last !  Why  had  n't  he  asked  the  deacon  if 
he  had  lost  the  money  he  had  taken  home  from  the 
selectmen's  office  !  And  when  Mrs.  Hawkes  after 
ward  ventured  to  ask  him  a  harmless  question  he  had 
grown  red  in  the  face  and  poured  forth  a  torrent  of 
nautical  language  which  had  nearly  taken  her  breath 
away,  without  apparent  reason  or  excuse.  The  cap 
tain,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  an  uncommon  swearer ; 
he  was  one  of  the  people  who  seem  to  serve  as 
volcanoes  or  outlets  for  the  concealed  anger  of  poor 
human  nature.  It  is  difficult  to  explain  why  pro 
fanity  seems  so  much  more  unlawful  and  shocking  in 
some  persons  than  in  others,  but  there  was  something 
fairly  amusing  in  the  flurry  and  sputter  of  irreverent 
words  which  betokened  excitement  of  any  kind  in 


AN  ONLY  SON.  179 

the  mind  of  Captain  Stone.  He  even  forgot  himself 
so  far  as  to  swear  a  little  occasionally  in  the  course 
of  earnest  exhortations  in  the  evening  prayer-meet 
ings.  There  was  not  a  better  man  or  a  sincerer 
Christian  in  the  town  of  Dalton,  though  he  had  be 
come  a  church-member  late  in  life  ;  and  knowing  this, 
there  was  never  anything  but  a  compassionate  smile 
when  he  grew  red  in  the  face  with  zeal,  and  recom 
mended  those  poor  wretched  damned  dogs  of  heathen 
to  mercy. 

Nothing  seemed  to  have  changed  outwardly  at  the 
South  village.  John  Price  did  his  errands  and  finished 
his  business  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  avoided  meet 
ing  his  acquaintances,  for  he  could  not  help  fearing 
that  he  should  be  questioned  about  this  miserable 
trouble.  As  he  left  the  bank  he  could  not  help  giv 
ing  a  sigh  of  relief,  for  that  emergency  was  bridged 
over ;  and  for  a  few  minutes  he  kept  himself  by  main 
force  from  looking  at  the  future  or  asking  himself 
"  What  next  ?  " 

But  as  he  turned  into  his  dust-powdered  lane  again 
at  noon,  the  curious  little  faces  of  the  mayweed  blos 
soms  seemed  to  stare  up  at  him,  and  there  was  no 
body  to  speak  to  him,  and  the  house  was  like  a  tomb 
where  all  the  years  of  his  past  were  lying  dead,  and 


180  AN   ONLY  SON. 

all  the  pleasantness  of  life  existed  only  in  remem 
brance. 

He  began  to  wish  for  Warren  in  a  way  he  never 
had  before,  and  as  he  looked  about  the  house  he  saw 
everywhere  some  evidence  of  his  mechanical  skill. 
Had  not  Eliza  Storrow  left  home  without  a  fear  be 
cause,  as  she  always  said,  Warren  was  as  handy  as  a 
woman  ?  The  remembrance  of  his  patient  diligence 
at  his  own  chosen  work,  his  quietness  under  reproof, 
his  evident  discomfort  at  having  to  be  dependent  upon 
his  father,  linked  to  a  perfect  faith  in  the  ultimate 
success  of  his  plans,  —  the  thought  of  all  these  things 
flashed  through  the  old  man's  mind.  "  I  wish  I  had 
waited  'till  he  told  me  what  he  had  to  say,  yister- 
day,"  said  Deacon  Price  to  himself.  "  'T  was  strange 
about  that  fence  too.  He  's  al'ays  been  willing  to 
take  holt  and  help  whenever  I  spoke  to  him."  He 
even  came  to  believe  that  the  boy  had  grown  des 
perate,  and  in  some  emergency  had  gone  in  search  of 
new  materials  for  his  machine.  "  He  's  so  forgitful," 
said  the  father,  "  he  may  have  forgot  to  speak  about 
the  money,  and  't  was  but  a  small-looking  roll  of 
bills.  He  '11  be  back  to-night,  like  's  not,  as  con 
cerned  as  can  be  when  he  finds  out  what  't  was  he 
took."  It  was  the  way  we  only  remember  the  good 
qualities  of  our  friends  who  have  died,  and  let  the 


AN   ONLY  SON.  181 

bad  ones  fade  out  of  sight,  and  so  know  the  angels 
that  were  growing  in  them  all  the  while,  and  out  of 
our  sight  at  last  have  thrown  off  the  disguise  and  hin 
drance  of  the  human  shape. 

Towards  evening  Jacob  Austin,  a  neighbor,  came 
into  the  yard  on  an  errand,  and  was  astonished  to  see 
how  tired  and  old  the  deacon  looked.  He  had  left 
the  oxen  and  their  great  load  of  coarse  meadow  hay 
standing  at  the  end  of  the  lane  in  the  road,  and  he 
meant  at  first  to  shoulder  the  borrowed  pitchfork  and 
quickly  rejoin  them,  but  it  was  impossible.  He  asked 
if  anything  were  the  matter,  and  was  answered  that 
there  was  something  trying  about  such  a  long  spell  of 
drought,  which  did  not  in  the  least  satisfy  his  curi 
osity. 

"  No,"  said  the  deacon,  "  I  'm  getting  to  be  an  old 
man,  but  I  keep  my  health  fairly.  Eliza  arid  War 
ren,  they  're  both  off  'tending  to  their  own  concerns, 
but  I  make  sure  one  or  both  of  'm  '11  be  back  to 
ward  sundown."  And  Jacob,  after  casting  about  in 
his  mind  for  anything  further  to  say,  mentioned  again 
that  't  was  inconvenient  to  break  a  pitchfork  right  in 
the  middle  of  loading  a  rack,  and  went  away. 

"  Looked  to  me  as  if  he  had  had  a  stroke,"  he  told 
his  family  that  night  at  supper  time  ;  and  the  con- 


182  AN  ONLY  SON. 

duct  of  Warren  and  Eliza  Storrow,  in  going  off  and 
leaving  the  old  deacon  to  shift  for  himself,  was  more 
severely  commented  upon. 

But  all  this  time,  the  latter  half  of  that  Tuesday 
afternoon,  Eliza  and  her  cousin  Starbird  were  jog 
ging  toward  home  over  the  Dalton  and  Somerset 
hills.  The  colt  was  in  good  trim,  and  glad  to  be 
nearing  his  own  familiar  stall  again,  and  struck  out 
at  an  uncommonly  good  pace,  though  none  of  the 
swiftest  at  that.  It  was  hardly  six  o'clock  when  the 
two  tired-out  and  severely  sunburnt  women  came  into 
the  yard.  The  deacon  heard  the  high-pitched  voice 
which  he  knew  so  well  before  he  heard  the  sound  of 
the  wheels  on  the  soft,  dry  turf,  and  went  out  to 
greet  the  new  comers,  half  glad  and  half  afraid. 
Eliza  took  it  for  granted  that  Warren  was  either  in 
the  workshop  as  usual,  or,  as  she  scornfully  expressed 
it,  roaming  the  hills,  and  did  not  ask  for  him.  Cousin 
Starbird  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  tea,  as  her 
home  was  three  miles  farther  on.  They  were  both 
heavy  women,  and  stiff  from  sitting  still  so  long  in 
the  old  wagon,  and  they  grumbled  a  little  as  they 
walked  toward  the  house. 

"  Yes,  't  was  a  splendid  occasion,"  Eliza  answered 
the  deacon,  as  he  stood  near,  hitching  the  colt  to  a 
much  gnawed  post.  "  It  all  went  off  beautifully* 


AN  ONLY  SON.  183 

Everybody  wanted  to  know  where  you  was,  an'  War 
ren.  There,  we  talked  till  we  was  all  about  dead, 
and  eat  ourselves  sick  ;  you  never  saw  a  handsomer 
table  in  your  life.  The  old  folks  stood  it  well,  but  I 
see  they  'd  begun  to  kind  o'  give  out  at  dinner-time 
to-day,  —  last  night  was  the  celebration,  you  know, 
because  lots  could  come  in  the  evenin'  that  was  oc 
cupied  by  day.  They  wanted  us  to  stop  longer,  but 
I  see  't  was  best  to  break  it  up,  and  I  'd  rather  go 
over  again  by  an'  by,  and  spend  the  day  in  peace  an' 
quietness,  and  have  a  good  visit.  We  've  been  say 
ing,  as  we  rode  along,  that  we  should  n't  be  surprised 
if  the  old  folks  kind  o'  faded  out  after  this,  they  've 
been  lookin'  forward  to  it  so  long.  Well,  it  's  all 
over,  like  a  boss-race  ;  "  and  Eliza  heaved  a  great  sigh 
and  went  into  the  front  room  to  open  the  blinds  and 
make  it  less  stuffy  ;  then  she  removed  her  best  bon 
net  in  her  own  room,  and  presently  came  out  to  get 
tea,  dressed  in  her  familiar  every-day  calico  gown. 

The  deacon  was  sitting  by  the  open  window,  drum 
ming  on  the  sill ;  he  had  a  trick  of  beating  a  slow 
tattoo  with  the  ends  of  his  queerly  shaped  fingers. 
They  were  long  and  dry,  and  somehow  did  not  look 
as  if  they  were  useful,  though  John  Price  had  been 
a  hard-working  man.  Cousin  Starbird  had  come 
down-stairs  first,  and  had  gone  out  to  get  a  piece  of 


184  AN   ONLY  SON. 

the  golden  wedding  cake  that  had  been  left  in  the 
wagon.  Eliza  was  busy  in  the  pantry,  scolding  a 
good  deal  at  the  state  she  found  it  in. 

"  Whatever  is  this  great  thing  in  my  pocket !  "  she 
exclaimed,  for  something  had  struck  the  table-leg  as 
she  came  by  it  to  bring  the  last  brace  of  blueberry 
pies  ;  and  quickly  fumbling  in  the  pocket's  depths 
she  brought  up  in  triumph  the  deacon's  great  brown 
wallet,  and  presented  it  to  its  owner. 

"  Good  King  Agrippy  ! "  said  the  amazed  man, 
snatching  it,  and  then  holding  it  and  looking  at  it 
as  if  he  were  afraid  it  would  bite. 

"  I  ain't  give  it  a  thought,  from  that  minute  to 
this,"  said  Eliza,  who  was  not  a  little  frightened.  "  I 
s'pose  you  've  been  thinking  you  lost  it.  I  thought 
you  looked  dreadful  wamblecropped  when  I  first  saw 
you.  Why,  you  see,  I  did  n't  undertake  to  wash 
yesterday  mornin',  because  I  did  n't  want  the  clothes 
a-layin'  and  mildewin',  and  I  kind  of  thought  perhaps 
I  'd  put  it  off  till  next  week,  anyway,  though  it  ain't 
my  principle  to  do  fortnight's  washes.  An'  I  had  so 
much  to  do,  gettin'  ready  to  start,  that  I  'd  gone  in 
early  and  made  up  your  bed  and  not  put  a  clean 
sheet  on  ;  but  you  was  busy  takin'  out  the  hoss  after 
you  come  home  at  noon,  and  had  your  dinner  to  eat, 
and  I  had  the  time  to  spare,  so  I  just  slipped  in  and 


AN  ONLY  SON.  185 

stripped  off  the  bedclothes  then,  and  this  come  out 
from  under  the  pillow.  I  meant  to  hand  it  to  you 
when  you  come  in  from  the  barn,  but  I  forgot  it  the 
next  minute  ;  you  know  we  was  belated  about  start 
ing,  and  I  was  scatter-witted.  I  hope  it  ain't  caused 
you  no  great  inconvenience  ;  you  ain't  wanted  it  for 
anything  very  special,  have  you  ?  I  s'pose  't  was 
foolish  to  go  fussin'  about  the  bed,  but  I  thought  if 
you  should  be  sick  or  anything  "  — 

"  Well,  I  've  got  it  now,"  said  the  deacon,  draw 
ing  a  long  breath.  "  I  own  I  felt  some  uneasy  about 
it,"  and  he  went  out  to  the  yard,  and  beyond  it  to 
the  garden,  and  beyond  the  garden  to  the  family 
burying-lot  in  the  field.  He  would  have  gone  to  his 
parish  church  to  pray  if  he  had  been  a  devout  Catho 
lic  ;  as  it  was,  this  was  the  nearest  approach  he  could 
make  to  a  solemn  thanksgiving. 

Some  of  the  oldest  stones  lay  flat  on  the  ground, 
and  a  network  of  blackberry  vines  covered  them  in 
part.  The  leaves  were  burnt  by  the  sun,  and  the 
crickets  scrambled  among  them  as  the  deacon's  foot 
fall  startled  them.  His  first  wife  and  his  second  wife 
both  were  buried  there,  their  resting-places  marked 
by  a  slate  headstone  and  a  marble  one,  and  it  was  to 
this  last  that  the  old  man  went.  His  first  wife  had 
been  a  plain,  hard-worked  woman  of  sterling  worth, 


186  AN  ONLY  SON. 

and  his  fortunes  had  declined  from  the  day  she  left 
him  to  guard  them  alone ;  hut  her  successor  had  been 
a  pale  and  delicate  school-teacher,  who  had  roused 
some  unsuspected  longing  for  beauty  and  romance  in 
John  Price's  otherwise  prosaic  nature.  She  had 
seemed  like  a  windflower  growing  beside  a  ledge ; 
and  her  husband  had  been  forced  to  confess  that  she 
was  not  fit  for  a  farmer's  wife.  If  he  could  have 
had  a  combination  of  his  two  partners,  he  had  once 
ventured  to  think,  he  would  have  been  exactly  suited. 
But  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  stood  before  the  grave 
with  his  head  bowed,  the  only  way  of  making  some 
sign  of  his  sorrow,  he  had  wrongfully  accused  an  in 
nocent  man,  his  son  and  hers  ;  and  there  he  stayed, 
doing  penance  as  best  he  could,  until  Eliza's  voice 
called  him  to  the  house,  and  to  some  sort  of  comfort 
able  existence  and  lack  of  self-reproof. 

Before  they  had  finished  supper  Warren  came  in, 
looking  flushed  and  tired  ;  but  he  took  his  seat  at  the 
table  after  a  pleasant  greeting,  and  the  deacon  passed 
him  every  plate  within  reach,  treating  him  with  un 
common  politeness.  The  father  could  not  help  notic 
ing  that  his  son  kept  stealing  glances  at  him,  and 
that  he  looked  pleased  and  satisfied.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  Warren  must  have  known  of  his  suspicions 
and  of  their  happy  ending,  but  it  was  discovered 


AN  ONLY  SON.  187 

presently  that  the  long-toiled-over  machine  had  been 
proved  a  success.  Warren  had  taken  it  to  his  former 
employer  at  Lowell,  who  had  promised,  so  great  was 
his  delight  with  it,  to  pay  the  expenses  of  getting  the 
patent  in  exchange  for  a  portion  of  the  right.  "  He 
said  there  would  be  no  end  to  the  sale  of  it,"  said  the 
young  man,  looking  eagerly  at  his  father's  face.  "  I 
would  n't  have  run  off  so  yesterday,  but  I  was  so  full 
of  it  I  could  n't  bear  to  think  of  losing  the  cars,  and 
I  did  n't  want  to  say  one  word  about  this  thing  till  I 
was  sure. 

"  I  expect  I  have  been  slack,"  he  continued  with 
evident  effort,  while  they  leaned  over  the  garden 
fence,  and  he  looked  at  his  father  appealingly.  "  But 
the  fact  is,  I  could  n't  seem  to  think  of  other  things ; 
it  took  all  there  was  of  me  to  keep  right  after  that. 
But  now  I  'm  going  to  take  right  hold  and  be  some 
help  about  the  place.  I  don't  seem  to  want  to  touch 
a  tool  again  for  a  year."  He  looked  pale  and  rest 
less  ;  the  reaction  from  his  long  excitement  had  set  in. 

The  deacon  gave  a  shaky  laugh,  and  struck  his 
son's  shoulder  by  way  of  a  clumsy  caress.  "  Don't 
you  go  to  frettin'  yourself  now,"  he  said.  "  I  ain't 
felt  so  pleased  as  I  do  to-day  since  the  day  you  come 
into  the  world.  I  sort  of  felt  certain  then  that  you 
was  goin'  to  be  somebody,  I  do'  know  why  't  was," 


188  AN  ONLY  SON. 

—  and  he  turned  away  suddenly  toward  the  house. 
"  If  you  are  as  rich  as  you  say  you  be,  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  between  us  we  had  n't  better  get  them 
blinds  painted,  and  smart  up  a  little,  another  year. 
I  declare,  the  old  place  has  begun  to  look  consider 
able  gone  to  seed.7' 

That  night  a  great  thunder-shower  broke  the  spell 
of  the  long  drought,  and  afterward,  until  morning, 
the  rain  fell  fast  upon  the  thirsty  ground,.  It  was  a 
good  night  to  sleep,  Eliza  had  said,  as  she  wearily 
climbed  the  crooked  backstairs  at  nine  o'clock,  for 
there  was  already  a  coolness  in  the  air.  She  never 
was  told  the  whole  of  the  story  about  the  wallet,  for 
when  she  heard  part  of  it  she  only  said  it  was  just 
like  a  man,  —  they  were  generally  the  most  helpless 
creatur's  alive.  He  might  have  known  she  had  put 
it  away  somewhere.  Why  did  n't  he  come  and  ask 
her  ?  He  never  seemed  to  mistrust  that  it  was  a  di 
rect  p'inting  out  of  his  duty  to  ride  over  to  Somerset 
to  the  gathering,  and  just  speak  to  the  folks. 

In  the  early  morning,  while  it  was  cool  and  wet, 
the  deacon  drove  up  to  the  captain's  farm,  and  the 
two  selectmen  perched  on  the  chopping  log  again, 
and  the  confession  was  made  and  listened  to  with 
great  gravity.  The  captain  swore  roundly  in  his 


AN   ONLY  SON.  189 

satisfaction,  and  said  he  was  going  to  have  a  square 
talk  with  Warren,  and  advise  with  him  a  little,  for 
fear  that  those  landsharks  down  in  Lowell  should 
undertake  to  cheat  him.  He  stowed  away  the  repay 
ment  of  the  loan  in  one  of  his  big  pockets,  as  if  it 
were  of  little  consequence  to  him,  but  he  announced 
with  considerable  satisfaction  at  the  next  selectmen's 
meeting,  that  he  owned  a  few  planks  of  that  three- 
masted  schooner  which  the  Otises  were  about  ready 
to  launch.  And  he  winked  at  Deacon  Price  in  a 
way  that  their  brother  Kendall  was  not  able  to  un 
derstand. 


MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 


THERE  is  a  class  of  elderly  New  England  women 
which  is  fast  dying  out :  —  those  good  souls  who  have 
sprung  from  a  soil  full  of  the  true  New  England  in 
stincts  ;  who  were  used  to  the  old-fashioned  ways,  and 
whose  minds  were  stored  with  quaint  country  lore 
and  tradition.  The  fashions  of  the  newer  generations 
do  not  reach  them ;  they  are  quite  unconscious  of  the 
western  spirit  and  enterprise,  and  belong  to  the  old 
days,  and  to  a  fast-disappearing  order  of  things. 

But  a  shrewder  person  does  not  exist  than  the 
spokeswoman  of  the  following  reminiscences,  whose 
simple  history  can  be  quickly  told,  since  she  spent 
her  early  life  on  a  lonely  farm,  leaving  it  only  once 
for  any  length  of  time,  —  one  winter  when  she  learned 
her  trade  of  tailoress.  She  afterward  sewed  for  her 
neighbors,  and  enjoyed  a  famous  reputation  for  her 
skill ;  but  year  by  year,  as  she  grew  older,  there  was 
less  to  do,  and  at  last,  to  use  her  own  expression, 
"Everybody  got  into  the  way  of  buying  cheap,  ready- 


MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  191 

made-up  clothes,  just  to  save  'em  a  little  trouble,"  and 
she  found  herself  out  of  business,  or  nearly  so.  After 
her  mother's  death,  and  that  of  her  favorite  younger 
brother  Jonas,  she  left  the  farm  and  came  to  a  little 
house  in  the  village,  where  she  lived  most  comforta 
bly  the  rest  of  her  life,  having  a  small  property  which 
she  used  most  sensibly.  She  was  always  ready  to 
render  any  special  service  with  her  needle,  and  was  a 
most  welcome  guest  in  any  household,  and  a  most  ef 
ficient  helper.  To  be  in  the  same  room  with  her  for 
a  while  was  sure  to  be  profitable,  and  as  she  grew 
older  she  was  delighted  to  recall  the  people  and 
events  of  her  earlier  life,  always  filling  her  descrip 
tions  with  wise  reflections  and  much  quaint  humor. 
She  always  insisted,  not  without  truth,  that  the  rail 
roads  were  making  everybody  look  and  act  of  a  piece, 
and  that  the  young  folks  were  more  alike  than  peo 
ple  of  her  own  day.  It  is  impossible  to  give  the  de- 
lightfulness  of  her  talk  in  any  written  words,  as  well 
as  many  of  its  peculiarities,  for  her  way  of  going 
round  Robin  Hood's  barn  between  the  beginning  of 
her  story  and  its  end  can  hardly  be  followed  at  all, 
and  certainly  not  in  her  own  dear  loitering  footsteps. 
On  an  idle  day  her  most  devoted  listener  thought 
there  was  nothing  better  worth  doing  than  to  watch 
this  good  soul  at  work.  A  book  was  held  open  for 


192  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

the  looks  of  the  thing,  but  presently  it  was  allowed 
to  flatter  its  leaves  and  close,  for  Miss  Debby  began 
without  any  apparent  provocation  :  — 

"  They  may  say  whatever  they  have  a  mind  to, 
but  they  can't  persuade  me  that  there  's  no  such  thing 
as  special  providences,"  and  she  twitched  her  strong 
linen  thread  so  angrily  through  the  carpet  she  was 
sewing,  that  it  snapped  and  the  big  needle  flew  into 
the  air.  It  had  to  be  found  before  any  further  re 
marks  could  be  made,  and  the  listener  also  knelt 
down  to  search  for  it.  After  a  while  it  was  discovered 
clinging  to  Miss  Debby's  own  dress,  and  after  rehar- 
nessing  it  she  went  to  work  again  at  her  long  seam. 
It  was  always  significant  of  a  succession  of  Miss 
Debby's  opinions  when  she  quoted  and  berated  cer 
tain  imaginary  persons  whom  she  designated  as 
"  They,"  who  stood  for  the  opposite  side  of  the  ques 
tion,  and  who  merited  usually  her  deepest  scorn  and 
fullest  antagonism.  Her  remarks  to  these  offending 
parties  were  always  prefaced  with  "  I  tell  'em,"  and 
to  the  listener's  mind  "  they  "  always  stood  rebuked, 
but  not  convinced,  in  spiritual  form  it  may  be,  but 
most  intense  reality  ;  a  little  group  as  solemn  as  Miss 
Debby  herself.  Once  the  listener  ventured  to  ask 
who  "  they  "  were,  in  her  early  childhood,  but  she 
was  only  answered  by  a  frown.  Miss  Debby  knew 


MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  193 

as  well  as  any  one  the  difference  between  figurative 
language  and  a  lie.  Sometimes  they  said  what  was 
right  and  proper,  and  were  treated  accordingly  ;  but 
very  seldom,  and  on  this  occasion  it  seemed  that  they 
had  ventured  to  trifle  with  sacred  things. 

"  I  suppose  you  're  too  young  to  remember  John 
Ashby's  grandmother  ?  A  good  woman  she  was,  and 
she  had  a  dreadful  time  with  her  family.  They  never 
could  keep  the  peace,  and  there  was  always  as  many 
as  two  of  them  who  did  n't  speak  with  each  other.  It 
seems  to  come  down  from  generation  to  generation 

like  a curse  !  "    And  Miss  Debby  spoke  the  last 

word  as  if  she  had  meant  it  partly  for  her  thread, 
which  had  again  knotted  and  caught,  and  she  snatched 

O  o 

the  offered  scissors  without  a  word,  but  said  peacea 
bly,  after  a  minute  or  two,  that  the  thread  was  n't 
what  it  used  to  be.  The  next  needleful  proved  more 
successful,  and  the  listener  asked  if  the  Ashbys  were 
getting  on  comfortably  at  present. 

"  They  always  behave  as  if  they  thought  they 
needed  nothing,"  was  the  response.  "  Not  that  I 
mean  that  they  are  any  ways  contented,  but  they 
never  will  give  in  that  other  folks  holds  a  candle  to 
'em.  There  's  one  kind  of  pride  that  I  do  hate,  — 
when  folks  is  satisfied  with  their  selves  and  don't  see 
no  need  of  improvement.  I  believe  in  self-respect,  but 

13 


194  MI88  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

I  believe  in  respecting  other  folks's  rights  as  much  as 
your  own  ;  but  it  takes  an  Ashby  to  ride  right  over 
you.  I  tell  'em  it 's  the  spirit  of  the  tyrants  of  old, 
and  it  's  the  kind  of  pride  that  goes  before  a  fall. 
John  Ashby's  grandmother  was  a  clever  little  woman 
as  ever  stepped.  She  came  from  over  Hardwick  way, 
and  I  think  she  kep'  'em  kind  of  decent-behaved 
as  long  as  she  was  round ;  but  she  got  wore  out  a 
doin'  of  it,  an'  went  down  to  her  grave  in  a  quick 
consumption.  My  mother  set  up  with  her  the  night 
she  died.  It  was  in  May,  towards  the  latter  part,  and 
an  awful  rainy  night.  It  was  the  storm  that  al 
ways  comes  in  apple-blossom  time.  I  remember  well 
that  mother  come  crying  home  in  the  morning  and 
told  us  Mis'  Ashby  was  dead.  She  brought  Marilly 
with  her,  that  was  about  my  own  age,  and  was 
taken  away  within  six  months  afterwards.  She  pined 
herself  to  death  for  her  mother,  and  when  she  caught 
the  scarlet  fever  she  went  as  quick  as  cherry-bloom 
when  it  's  just  ready  to  fall  and  a  wind  strikes  it. 
She  wa'n't  like  the  rest  of  'em.  She  took  after  her 
mother's  folks  altogether. 

"You  know  our  farm  was  right  next  to  theirs, — 
the  one  Asa  Hopper  owns  now,  but  he  's  let  it  all  run 
out,  —  and  so,  as  we  lived  some  ways  from  the  stores, 
we  had  to  be  neighborly,  for  we  depended  on  each 


MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  195 

other  for  a  good  many  things.  Families  in  lonesome 
places  get  out  of  one  supply  and  another,  and  have  to 
borrow  until  they  get  a  chance  to  send  to  the  village  ; 
or  sometimes  in  a  busy  season  some  of  the  folks  would 
have  to  leave  work  and  be  gone  half  a  day.  Land, 
you  don't  know  nothing  about  old  times,  and  the  life 
that  used  to  go  on  about  here.  You  can't  step  into  a 
house  anywheres  now  that  there  ain't  the  county  map 
and  they  don't  fetch  out  the  photograph  book ;  and 
in  every  district  you  '11  find  all  the  folks  has  got  the 
same  chromo  picture  hung  up,  and  all  sorts  of  lux 
uries  and  makeshifts  o'  splendor  that  would  have 
made  the  folks  I  was  fetched  up  by  stare  their  eyes 
out  o'  their  heads.  It  was  all  we  could  do  to  keep 
along  then  ;  and  if  anybody  was  called  rich,  it  was 
only  because  he  had  a  great  sight  of  land,  —  and  then 
it  was  drudge,  drudge  the  harder  to  pay  the  taxes. 
There  was  hardly  any  ready  money  ;  and  I  recollect 
well  that  old  Tommy  Simms  was  reputed  wealthy, 
and  it  was  told  over  fifty  times  a  year  that  he  'd  got 
a  solid  four  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank.  He  strutted 
round  like  a  turkey-cock,  and  thought  he  ought  to 
have  his  first  say  about  everything  that  was  going. 

"  I  was  talking  about  the  Ashbys,  was  n't  I  ?  I  do' 
know  's  I  ever  told  you  about  the  fight  they  had  after 
their  father  died  about  the  old  house.  Joseph  was 


196  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

married  to  a  girl  he  met  in  camp-meeting  time,  who 
had  a  little  property  —  two  or  three  hundred  dollars 
—  from  an  old  great  uncle  that  she  'd  been  keeping 
house  for;  and  I  don't  know  what  other  plans  she 
may  have  had  for  spending  of  her  means,  but  she 
laid  most  of  it  out  in  a  husband  ;  for  Joseph  never 
cared  any  great  about  her  that  I  could  see,  though 
he  always  treated  her  well  enough.  She  was  a  poor 
ignorant  sort  of  thing,  seven  years  older  than  he  was  ; 
but  she  had  a  pleasant  kind  of  a  face,  and  seemed 
like  an  overgrown  girl  of  six  or  eight  years  old.  I 
remember  just  after  they  was  married  Joseph  was 
taken  down  with  a  quinsy  sore  throat,  —  being  always 
subject  to  them,  —  and  mother  was  over  in  the  fore 
noon,  and  she  was  one  that  was  always  giving  right 
hand  and  left,  and  she  told  Susan  Ellen  —  that  was 
his  wife  —  to  step  over  in  the  afternoon  arid  she 
would  give  her  some  blackberry  preserve  for  him  ; 
she  had  some  that  was  nice  and  it  was  very  healing. 
So  along  about  half-past  one  o'clock,  just  as  we  had 
got  the  kitchen  cleared,  and  mother  and  I  had  got  out 
the  big  wheels  to  spin  a  few  rolls,  —  we  always  liked 
to  spin  together,  and  mother  was  always  good  com 
pany;  —  my  brother  Jonas  —  that  was  the  youngest  of 
us  —  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  says  he :  '  Here 
comes  Joe  Ashby's  wife  with  a  six-quart  pail.' 


MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  197 

"  Mother  she  began  to  shake  all  over  with  a  laugh 
she  tried  to  swallow  down,  but  I  did  n't  know  what 
it  was  all  about,  and  in  come  poor  Susan  Ellen  and 
lit  on  the  edge  of  the  first  chair  and  set  the  pail  down 
beside  of  her.  We  tried  to  make  her  feel  welcome, 
and  spoke  about  everything  we  could  contrive,  seein' 
as  it  was  the  first  time  she  'd  been  over ;  and  she 
seemed  grateful  and  did  the  best  she  could,  and  lost 
her  strangeness  with  mother  right  away,  for  mother 
was  the  best  hand  to  make  folks  feel  to  home  with 
her  that  I  ever  come  across.  There  ain't  many  like 
her  now,  nor  never  was,  I  tell  'em.  But  there  wa'n't 
nothing  said  about  the  six-quart  pail,  and  there  it  set 
on  the  floor,  until  Susan  Ellen  said  she  must  be  go 
ing  and  mentioned  that  there  was  something  said 
about  a  remedy  for  Joseph's  throat.  '  Oh,  yes,'  says 
mother,  and  she  brought  out  the  little  stone  jar  she 
kept  the  preserve  in,  and  there  wa'n't  more  than  the 
half  of  it  full.  Susan  Ellen  took  up  the  cover  off 
the  pail,  and  I  walked  off  into  the  bedroom,  for  I 
thought  I  should  laugh,  certain.  Mother  put  in  a 
big  spoonful,  and  another,  and  I  heard  'em  drop,  and 
she  went  on  with  one  or  two  more,  and  then  she  give 
up.  <  I  'd  give  you  the  jar  and  welcome,'  she  says, 
6  but  I  ain't  very  well  off  for  preserves,  and  I  was 
kind  of  counting  on  this  for  tea  in  case  my  brother's 


198  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

folks  are  over.'  Susan  Ellen  thanked  her,  and  said 
Joseph  would  be  obliged,  and  back  she  went  acrost 
the  pasture.  I  can  see  that  big  tin  pail  now  a-shining 
in  the  sun. 

"  The  old  man  was  alive  then,  and  he  took  a  great 
spite  against  poor  Susan  Ellen,  though  he  never 
would  if  he  had  n't  been  set  on  by  John ;  and  whether 
he  was  mad  because  Joseph  had  stepped  in  to  so 
much  good  money  or  what,  I  don't  know,  —  but  he 
twitted  him  about  her,  and  at  last  he  and  the  old 
man  between  'em  was  too  much  to  bear,  and  Joe 
fitted  up  a  couple  o'  rooms  for  himself  in  a  building 
he  'd  put  up  for  a  kind  of  work-shop.  He  used  to 
carpenter  by  spells,  and  he  clapboarded  it  and  made 
it  as  comfortable  as  he  could,  and  he  ordered  John 
out  of  it  for  good  and  all ;  but  he  and  Susan  Ellen 
both  treated  the  old  sir  the  best  they  knew  how,  and 
Joseph  kept  right  on  with  his  farm  work  same  as 
ever,  and  meant  to  lay  up  a  little  more  money  to  join 
with  his  wife's,  and  push  off  as  soon  as  he  could  for 
the  sake  of  peace,  though  if  there  was  anybody  set 
by  the  farm  it  was  Joseph.  He  was  to  blame  for 
some  things,  —  I  never  saw  an  Ashby  that  was  n't,  — 
and  I  dare  say  he  was  aggravating.  They  were  clear 
ing  a  piece  of  woodland  that  winter,  and  the  old  man 
was  laid  up  in  the  house  with  the  rheumatism,  off  and 


MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  199 

on,  and  that  inade  him  fractious,  and  he  and  John 
connived  together,  till  one  day  Joseph  and  Susan 
Ellen  had  taken  the  sleigh  and  gone  to  Freeport 
Four  Corners  to  get  some  flour  and  one  thing  and 
another,  and  to  have  the  horse  shod  beside,  so  they 
was  likely  to  be  gone  two  or  three  hours.  John 
Jacobs  was  going  by  with  his  oxen,  and  John  Ashby 
and  the  old  man  hailed  him,  and  said  they  'd  give  him 
a  dollar  if  he  'd  help  'em,  and  they  hitched  the  two 
yoke,  his  and  their'n,  to  Joseph's  house.  There  wa'n't 
any  foundation  to  speak  of,  the  sills  set  right  on  the 
ground,  and  he  'd  banked  it  up  with  a  few  old  boards 
and  some  pine  spills  and  sand  and  stuff,  just  to  keep 
the  cold"  out.  There  wa'n't  but  a  little  snow,  and  the 
roads  was  smooth  and  icy,  and  they  slipped  it  along 
as  if  it  had  been  a  hand-sled,  and  got  it  down  the 
road  a  half  a  mile  or  so  to  the  fork  of  the  roads,  and 
left  it  settiu'  there  right  on  the  heater-piece.  Jacobs 
told  afterward  that  he  kind  of  disliked  to  do  it,  but 
he  thought  as  long  as  their  minds  were  set,  he  might 
as  well  have  the  dollar  as  anybody.  He  said  when 
the  house  give  a  slew  on  a  sideling  piece  in  the  road, 
he  heard  some  of  the  crockery-ware  smash  down,  and 
a  branch  of  an  oak  they  passed  by  caught  hold  of 
the  stove-pipe  that  come  out  through  one  of  the 
walls,  and  give  that  a  wrench,  but  he  guessed  there 


200  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

wa'n't  no  great  damage.  Joseph  may  have  given  'em 
some  provocation  before  he  went  away  in  the  morn 
ing,  —  I  don't  know  but  he  did,  and  I  don't  know  as  he 
did,  —  but  at  any  rate  when  he  was  coming  home  late 
in  the  afternoon  he  caught  sight  of  his  house  (some 
of  our  folks  was  right  behind,  and  they  saw  him), 
and  he  stood  right  up  in  the  sleigh  and  shook  his 
fist,  he  was  so  mad  ;  but  afterwards  he  bu'st  out 
laughin'.  It  did  look  kind  of  curi's  ;  it  wa'n't  bigger 
than  a  front  entry,  and  it  set  up  so  pert  right  there 
on  the  heater-piece,  as  if  he  was  calc'latin'  to  farm  it. 
The  folks  said  Susan  Ellen  covered  up  her  face  in 
her  shawl  and  begun  to  cry.  I  s'pose  the  pore  thing 
was  discouraged.  Joseph  was  awful  mad,  —  he  was 
kind  of  laughing  and  cryin'  together.  Our  folks 
stopped  and  asked  him  if  there  was  anything  they 
could  do,  and  he  said  no  ;  but  Susan  Ellen  went  in 
to  view  how  things  were,  and  they  made  up  a  fire, 
and  then  Joe  took  the  horse  home,  and  I  guess  they 
had  it  hot  and  heavy.  Nobody  supposed  they  'd  ever 
make  up  'less  there  was  a  funeral  in  the  family  to 
bring  'em  together,  the  fight  had  gone  so  far,  —  but 
'long  in  the  winter  old  Mr.  Ashby,  the  boys'  father, 
was  taken  down  with  a  spell  o'  sickness,  and  there 
wa'n't  anybody  they  could  get  to  come  and  look  after 
the  house.  The  doctor  hunted,  and  they  all  hunted, 


MISS  DEBBY'S   NEIGHBORS.  201 

but  there  did  n't  seem  to  be  anybody  —  't  wa'n't  so 
thick  settled  as  now,  and  there  was  no  spare  help  — 
so  John  had  to  eat  humble  pie,  and  go  and  ask  Susan 
Ellen  if  she  would  n't  come  back  and  let  by-gones 
be  by-gones.  She  was  as  good-natured  a  creatur'  as 
ever  stepped,  and  did  the  best  she  knew,  and  she 
spoke  up  as  pleasant  as  could  be,  and  said  she  'd  go 
right  off  that  afternoon  and  help  'em  through. 

"  The  old  Ashby  had  been  a  hard  drinker  in  his  day 
and  he  was  all  broke  down.  Nobody  ever  saw  him 
that  he  could  n't  walk  straight,  but  he  got  a  crooked 
disposition  out  of  it,  if  nothing  else.  I  s'pose  there 
never  was  a  man  loved  sperit  better.  They  said  one 
year  he  was  over  to  Cyrus  Parker's  to  help  with  the 
haying,  and  there  was  a  jug  o'  New  England  rum 
over  by  the  spring  with  some  gingerbread  and  cheese 
and  stuff;  and  he  went  over  about  every  half  an 
hour  to  take  something,  and  along  about  half-past 
ten  he  got  the  jug  middling  low,  so  he  went  to  fill  it 
up  with  a  little  water,  and  lost  holt  of  it  and  it  sunk, 
and  they  said  he  drunk  the  spring  dry  three  times  ! 

"Joe  and  Susan  Ellen  stayed  there  at  the  old 
place  well  into  the  summer,  and  then  after  planting 
they  moved  down  to  the  Four  Corners  where  they 
had  bought  a  nice  little  place.  Joe  did  well  there,  — 
he  carried  on  the  carpenter  trade,  and  got  smoothed 


202  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

down  considerable,  being  amongst  folks.  John  he 
married  a  Pecker  girl,  and  got  his  match  too ;  she 
was  the  only  living  soul  he  ever  was  afraid  of.  They 
lived  on  there  a  spell  and  —  why,  they  must  have  lived 
there  all  of  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  for  the  time  they  moved  was  after  the 
railroad  was  built.  'T  was  along  in  the  winter  and 
his  wife  she  got  a  notion  to  buy  a  place  down  to  the 
Falls  below  the  Corners  after  the  mills  got  started  and 
have  John  work  in  the  spinning-room  while  she  took 
boarders.  She  said  't  wa'n't  no  use  staying  on  the 
farm,  they  could  n't  make  a  living  off  from  it  now 
they  'd  cut  the  growth.  Joe's  folks  and  she  never 
could  get  along,  and  they  said  she  was  dreadfully 
riled  up  hearing  how  much  Joe  was  getting  in  the 
machine  shop. 

"  They  need  n't  tell  me  about  special  providences 
being  all  moonshine,"  said  Miss  Debby  for  the  second 
time,  u  if  here  wa'n't  a  plain  one,  I  '11  never  say 
one  word  more  about  it.  You  see,  that  very  time 
Joe  Ashby  got  a  splinter  in  his  eye  and  they  were 
afraid  he  was  going  to  lose  his  sight,  and  he  got  a  no 
tion  that  he  wanted  to  go  back  to  farming.  He  al 
ways  set  everything  by  the  old  place,  and  he  had  a  boy 
growing  up  that  neither  took  to  his  book  nor  to  mill 
work,  and  he  wanted  to  farm  it  too.  So  Joe  got  hold 


MISS   DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  203 

of  John  one  day  when  he  come  in  with  some  wood, 
and  asked  him  why  he  would  n't  take  his  place  for 
a  year  or  two,  if  he  wanted  to  get  to  the  village,  and 
let  him  go  out  to  the  old  place.  My  brother  Jonas 
was  standin'  right  by  and  heard  'em  and  said  he  never 
heard  nobody  speak  civiller.  But  John  swore  and 
said  he  wa'n't  going  to  be  caught  in  no  such  a  trap 
as  that.  His  father  left  him  the  place  and  he  was 
going  to  do  as  he  'd  a  mind  to.  There  'd  be'n 
trouble  about  the  property,  for  old  Mr.  Ashby  had 
given  Joe  some  money  he  had  in  the  bank.  Joe  had 
got  to  be  well  off,  he  could  have  bought  most  any 
farm  about  here,  but  he  wanted  the  old  place  'count 
of  his  attachment.  He  set  everything  by  his  mother, 
spite  of  her  being  dead  so  long.  John  had  n't  done 
very  well  spite  of  his  being  so  sharp,  but  he  let  out 
the  best  of  the  farm  on  shares,  and  bought  a  mis'able 
sham-built  little  house  down  close  by  the  mills,  — 
and  then  some  idea  or  other  got  into  his  head  to  fit 
that  up  to  let  and  move  it  to  one  side  of  the  lot,  and 
haul  down  the  old  house  from  the  farm  to  live  in 
themselves.  There  wa'n't  no  time  to  lose,  else  the 
snow  would  be  gone ;  so  he  got  a  gang  o'  men  up 
there  and  put  shoes  underneath  the  sills,  and  then 
they  assembled  all  the  oxen  they  could  call  in,  and 
started.  Mother  was  living  then,  though  she  'd  got 


204  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

to  be  very  feeble,  and  when  they  come  for  our  yoke 
she  wouldn't  have  Jonas  let  'em  go.  She  said  the 
old  house  ought  to  stay  in  its  place.  Everybody  had 
been  telling  John  Ash  by  that  the  road  was  too  hilly, 
and  besides  the  house  was  too  old  to  move,  they  'd 
rack  it  all  to  pieces  dragging  it  so  fur ;  but  he  would 
n't  listen  to  no  reason. 

"  I  never  saw  mother  so  stirred  up  as  she  was  that 
day,  and  when  she  see  the  old  thing  a  moving  she 
burst  right  out  crying.  We  could  see  one  end  of  it 
looking  over  the  slope  of  the  hill  in  the  pasture  be 
tween  it  and  our  house.  There  was  two  windows 
that  looked  our  way,  and  I  know  Mis'  Ashby  used 
to  hang  a  piece  o'  something  white  out  o'  one  of  'em 
when  she  wanted  mother  to  step  over  for  anything. 
They  set  a  good  deal  by  each  other,  and  Mis'  Ashby 
was  a  lame  woman.  I  should  n't  ha'  thought  John 
would  had  'em  haul  the  house  right  over  the  little 
gardin  she  thought  so  much  of,  and  broke  down  the 
laylocks  and  flowering  currant  she  set  everything  by. 
I  remember  when  she  died  I  was  n't  more  'n  seven 
or  eight  year  old,  it  was  all  in  full  bloom  and  mother 
she  broke  off  a  branch  and  laid  into  the  coffin.  I  do' 
know  as  I  've  ever  seen  any  since  or  set  in  a  room 
and  had  the  sweetness  of  it  blow  in  at  the  windows 
without  remembering  that  day,  —  't  was  the  first  fu- 


MISS   DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS.  205 

neral  I  ever  went  to,  and  that  may  be  some  reason. 
Well,  the  old  house  started  off  and  mother  watched  it 
as  long  as  she  could  see  it.  She  was  sort  o'  feeble 
herself  then,  as  I  said,  and  we  went  on  with  the  work, 
—  't  was  a  Saturday,  and  we  was  baking  and  churn 
ing  and  getting  things  to  rights  generally.  Jonas 
had  been  over  in  the  swamp  getting  out  some  wood 
he  'd  cut  earlier  in  the  winter  —  and  along  in  the 
afternoon  he  come  in  and  said  he  s'posed  I  would  n't 
want  to  ride  down  to  the  Corners  so  late,  and  I  said 
I  did  feel  just  like  it,  so  we  started  off.  We  went 
the  Birch  Ridge  road,  because  he  wanted  to  see  some 
body  over  that  way,  — and  when  we  was  going  home 
by  the  straight  road,  Jonas  laughed  and  said  we  had  n't 
seen  anything  of  John  Ashby's  moving,  and  he  guessed 
he  'd  got  stuck  somewhere.  He  was  glad  he  had  n't 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  We  drove  along  pretty  quick, 
for  we  were  some  belated,  and  we  did  n't  like  to  leave 
mother  all  alone  after  it  come  dark.  All  of  a  sudden 
Jonas  stood  up  in  the  sleigh,  and  says  he,  '  I  don't  be 
lieve  but  the  cars  is  off  the  track ; '  and  I  looked  and 
there  did  seem  to  be  something  the  matter  with  'em. 
They  had  n't  been  running  more  than  a  couple  o' 
years  then,  and  we  was  prepared  for  anything. 

"Jonas  he  whipped  up  the  horse  and  we  got  there 
pretty  quick,  and  I  '11  be  bound  if  the  Ashby  house 


206  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

had  n't  got  stuck  fast  right  on  the  track,  and  stir  it 
one  way  or  another  they  could  n't.  They  M  been 
there  since  quarter-past  one,  pulling  and  hauling,  — 
and  the  men  was  all  hoarse  with  yelling,  and  the  cars 
had  come  from  both  ways  and  met  there,  —  one  each 
side  of  the  crossing,  —  and  the  passengers  was  walk 
ing  about,  scolding  and  swearing,  —  and  somebody  'd 
gone  and  lit  up  a  gre't  bonfire.  You  never  see  such 
a  sight  in  all  your  life  !  I  happened  to  look  up  at  the 
old  house,  and  there  were  them  two  top  windows  that 
used  to  look  over  to  our  place,  and  they  had  caught 
the  shine  of  the  firelight,  and  made  the  poor  old 
thing  look  as  if  it  was  scared  to  death.  The  men 
was  banging  at  it  with  axes  and  crowbars,  and  it 
was  dreadful  distressing.  You  pitied  it  as  if  it  was 
a  live  creatur'.  It  come  from  such  a  quiet  place, 
and  always  looked  kind  of  comfortable,  though  so 
much  war  had  gone  on  amongst  the  Ashbys.  I 
tell  you  it  was  a  judgment  on  John,  for  they  got  it 
shoved  back  after  a  while,  and  then  would  n't  touch 
it  again,  —  not  one  of  the  men,  —  nor  let  their  oxen. 
The  plastering  was  all  stove,  and  the  outside  walls  all 
wrenched  apart,  —  and  John  never  did  anything  more 
about  it ;  but  let  it  set  there  all  summer,  till  it  burnt 
down,  and  there  was  an  end,  one  night  in  September. 
They  supposed  some  traveling  folks  slept  in  it  and 


MISS  DEBBY'S'~NE1GHBORS.  207 

set  it  afire,  or  else  some  boys  did  it  for  fun.  I  was 
glad  it  was  out  of  the  way.  One  day,  I  know,  I  was 
coming  by  with  mother,  and  she  said  it  made  her  feel 
bad  to  see  the  little  strips  of  leather  by  the  fore  door, 
where  Mis'  Ashby  had  nailed  up  a  rosebush  once. 
There !  there  ain't  an  Ashby  alive  now  of  the  old 
stock,  except  young  John.  Joe's  son  went  off  to  sea, 
and  I  believe  he  was  lost  somewhere  in  the  China 
seas,  or  else  he  died  of  a  fever  ;  I  seem  to  forget. 
He  was  called  a  smart  boy,  but  he  never  could  seem 
to  settle  down  to  anything.  Sometimes  I  wonder 
folks  is  as  good  as  they  be,  when  I  consider  what 
comes  to  'em  from  their  folks  before  'em,  and  how 
they  're  misshaped  by  nature.  Them  Ashbys  never 
was  like  other  folks,  and  yet  some  good  streak  or 
other  there  was  in  every  one  of  'em.  You  can't  ex 
pect  much  from  such  hindered  creatur's,  —  it's  just 
like  beratin'  a  black  and  white  cat  for  being  a  poor 
mouser.  It  ain't  her  fault  that  the  mice  see  her 
quicker  than  they  can  a  gray  one.  If  you  get  one  of 
them  masterful  dispositions  put  with  a  good  strong 
will  towards  the  right,  that 's  what  makes  the  best  of 
men ;  but  all  them  Ashbys  cared  about  was  to  grasp 
and  get,  and  be  cap'ns.  They  liked  to  see  other 
folks  put  down,  just  as  if  it  was  going  to  set  them  up. 
And  they  did  n't  know  nothing.  They  make  me  think 


208  MISS  DEBBY'S  NEIGHBORS. 

of  some  o'  them  old  marauders  that  used  to  hive  up 
into  their  castles,  in  old  times,  and  then  go  out  a-over- 
setting  and  plundering.  And  I  tell  you  that  same  sperit 
was  in  'em.  They  was  born  a  couple  o'  hundred  years 
too  late.  Kind  of  left-over  folks,  as  it  were."  And 
Miss  Debby  indulged  in  a  quiet  chuckle  as  she  bent 
over  her  work.  "  John  he  got  captured  by  his  wife,  — 
she  carried  too  many  guns  for  him.  I  believe  he  died 
very  poor  and  her  own  son  would  n't  support  her,  so 
she  died  over  in  Freeport  poor-house.  And  Joe  got 
along  better  ;  his  wife  was  clever  but  rather  slack, 
and  it  took  her  a  good  while  to  see  through  things. 
She  married  again  pretty  quick  after  he  died.  She 
had  as  much  as  seven  or  eight  thousand  dollars,  and 
she  was  taken  just  as  she  stood  by  a  roving  preacher 
that  was  holding  meetings  here  in  the  winter  time. 
He  sold  out  her  place  here,  arid  they  went  up  country 
somewheres  that  he  come  from.  Her  boy  was  lost  be 
fore  that,  so  there  was  nothing  to  hinder  her.  There, 
don't  you  think  I  'm  always  a-fault-finding !  When 
I  get  hold  of  the  real  thing  in  folks,  I  stick  to  'em, 
—  but  there  's  an  awful  sight  of  poor  material  walk 
ing  about  that  ain't  worth  the  ground  it  steps  on. 
But  when  I  look  back  a  little  ways,  I  can't  blame 
some  of  'em  ;  though  it  does  often  seem  as  if  people 
might  do  better  if  they  only  set  to  work  and  tried. 


MISS  DEBBY'S^NEIGHBORS.  209 

I  must  say  I  always  do  feel  pleased  when  I  think  how 
mad  John  was,  —  this  John's  father,  —  when  he  could 
n't  do  just  as  he  'd  a  mind  to  with  the  pore  old  house. 
I  could  n't  help  thinking  of  Joe's  mansion,  that  he  and 
his  father  hauled  down  to  the  heater  piece  in  the  fork 
of  the  roads.  Sometimes  I  wonder  where  them  Ash- 
bys  all  went  to.  They  'd  mistake  one  place  for  the 
other  in  the  next  world,  for  't  would  make  heaven 
out  o'  hell,  because  they  could  be  disagreeing  with 
somebody,  and  —  well,  I  don't  know,  —  I  'm  sure  they 
kep'  a  good  row  going  while  they  was  in  this  world. 
Only  with  mother  ;  —  somehow  she  could  get  along 
with  anybody,  and  not  always  give  'em  their  way 
either." 


TOM'S  HUSBAND. 


I  SHALL  not  dwell  long  upon  the  circumstances 
that  led  to  the  marriage  of  my  hero  and  heroine ; 
though  their  courtship  was,  to  them,  the  only  one 
that  has  ever  noticeably  approached  the  ideal,  it  had 
many  aspects  in  which  it  was  entirely  commonplace 
in  other  people's  eyes.  While  the  world  in  general 
smiles  at  lovers  with  kindly  approval  and  sympathy, 
it  refuses  to  be  aware  of  the  unprecedented  delight 
which  is  amazing  to  the  lovers  themselves. 

But,  as  has  been  true  in  many  other  cases,  when 
they  were  at  last  married,  the  most  ideal  of  situations 
was  found  to  have  been  changed  to  the  most  practi 
cal.  Instead  of  having  shared  their  original  duties, 
and,  as  school-boys  would  say,  going  halves,  they  dis 
covered  that  the  cares  of  life  had  been  doubled.  This 
led  to  some  distressing  moments  for  both  our  friends ; 
they  understood  suddenly  that  instead  of  dwelling  in 
heaven  they  were  still  upon  earth,  and  had  made 
themselves  slaves  to  new  laws  and  limitations.  In- 


TOM'S  H&SBAND.  211 

stead  of  being  freer  and  happier  than  ever  before, 
they  had  assumed  new  responsibilities  ;  they  had  es 
tablished  a  new  household,  and  must  fulfill  in  some 
way  or  another  the  obligations  of  it.  They  looked 
back  with  affection  to  their  engagement ;  they  had 
been  longing  to  have  each  other  to  themselves,  apart 
from  the  world,  but  it  seemed  that  they  never  felt  so 
keenly  that  they  were  still  units  in  modern  society. 
Since  Adam  and  Eve  were  in  Paradise,  before  the 
devil  joined  them,  nobody  has  had  a  chance  to  imi 
tate  that  unlucky  couple.  In  some  respects  they  told 
the  truth  when,  twenty  times  a  day,  they  said  that 
life  had  never  been  so  pleasant  before ;  but  there 
were  mental  reservations  on  either  side  which  might 
have  subjected  them  to  the  accusation  of  lying. 
Somehow,  there  was  a  little  feeling  of  disappoint 
ment,  and  they  caught  themselves  wondering  — 
though  they  would  have  died  sooner  than  confess  it 
—  whether  they  were  quite  so  happy  as  they  had  ex 
pected.  The  truth  was,  they  were  much  happier  than 
people  usually  are,  for  they  had  an  uncommon  capac 
ity  for  enjoyment.  For  a  little  while  they  were  like 
a  sail-boat  that  is  beating  and  has  to  drift  a  few  min 
utes  before  it  can  catch  the  wind  and  start  off  on  the 
other  tack.  And  they  had  the  same  feeling,  too,  that 
any  one  is  likely  to  have  who  has  been  long  pursuing 


212  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

some  object  of  his  ambition  or  desire.  Whether  it  is 
a  coin,  or  a  picture,  or  a  stray  volume  of  some  old 
edition  of  Shakespeare,  or  whether  it  is  an  office  un 
der  government  or  a  lover,  when  fairly  in  one's  grasp 
there  is  a  loss  of  the  eagerness  that  was  felt  in  pur 
suit.  Satisfaction,  even  after  one  has  dined  well,  is 
not  so  interesting  and  eager  a  feeling  as  hunger. 

My  hero  and  heroine  were  reasonably  well  estab 
lished  to  begin  with  :  they  each  had  some  money, 
though  Mr.  Wilson  had  most.  His  father  had  at  one 
time  been  a  rich  man,  but  with  the  decline,  a  few 
years  before,  of  manufacturing  interests,  he  had  be 
come,  mostly  through  the  fault  of  others,  somewhat 
involved ;  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  his  affairs 
were  in  such  a  condition  that  it  was  still  a  question 
whether  a  very  large  sum  or  a  moderately  large  one 
would  represent  his  estate.  Mrs.  Wilson,  Tom's  step 
mother,  was  somewhat  of  an  invalid ;  she  suffered 
severely  at  times  with  asthma,  but  she  was  almost 
entirely  relieved  by  living  in  another  part  of  the 
country.  While  her  husband  lived,  she  had  accepted 
her  illness  as  inevitable,  and  rarely  left  home  ;  but 
during  the  last  few  years  she  had  lived  in  Philadel 
phia  with  her  own  people,  making  short  and  wheez 
ing  visits  only  from  time  to  time,  and  had  not  under 
gone  a  voluntary  period  of  suffering  since  the  occasion 


TOM'S  HtTSBAND.  213 

of  Tom's  marriage,  which  she  had  entirely  approved. 
She  had  a  sufficient  property  of  her  own,  and  she 
and  Tom  were  independent  of  each  other  in  that 
way.  Her  only  other  step-child  was  a  daughter,  who 
had  married  a  navy  officer,  and  had  at  this  time  gone 
out  to  spend  three  years  (or  less)  with  her  husband, 
who  had  been  ordered  to  Japan. 

It  is  not  unfrequently  noticed  that  in  many  mar 
riages  one  of  the  persons  who  choose  each  other  as 
partners  for  life  is  said  to  have  thrown  himself  or 
herself  away,  and  the  relatives  and  friends  look  on 
with  dismal  forebodings  and  ill-concealed  submission. 
In  this  case  it  was  the  wife  who  might  have  done  so 
much  better,  according  to  public  opinion.  She  did 
not  think  so  herself,  luckily,  either  before  marriage 
or  afterward,  and  I  do  not  think  it  occurred  to  her  to 
picture  to  herself  the  sort  of  career  which  would  have 
been  her  alternative.  She  had  been  an  only  child, 
and  had  usually  taken  her  own  way.  Some  one  once 
said  that  it  was  a  great  pity  that  she  had  not  been 
obliged  to  work  for  her  living,  for  she  had  inherited 
a  most  uncommon  business  talent,  and,  without  being 
disreputably  keen  at  a  bargain,  her  insight  into  the 
practical  working  of  affairs  was  very  clear  and  far- 
reaching.  Her  father,  who  had  also  been  a  manufac 
turer,  like  Tom's,  had  often  said  it  had  been  a  mistake 


214  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

that  she  was  a  girl  instead  of  a  boy.  Such  executive 
ability  as  hers  is  often  wasted  in  the  more  contracted 
sphere  of  women,  and  is  apt  to  be  more  a  disadvan 
tage  than  a  help.  She  was  too  independent  and  self- 
reliant  for  a  wife  ;  it  would  seem  at  first  thought  that 
she  needed  a  wife  herself  more  than  she  did  a  hus 
band.  Most  men  like  best  the  women  whose  natures 
cling  and  appeal  to  theirs  for  protection.  But  Tom 
Wilson,  while  he  did  not  wish  to  be  protected  him 
self,  liked  these  very  qualities  in  his  wife  which 
would  have  displeased  some  other  men  ;  to  tell  the 
truth,  he  was  very  much  in  love  with  his  wife  just  as 
she  was.  He  was  a  successful  collector  of  almost 
everything  but  money,  and  during  a  great  part  of  his 
life  he  had  been  an  invalid,  and  he  had  grown,  as  he 
laughingly  confessed,  very  old-womanish.  He  had 
been  badly  lamed,  when  a  boy,  by  being  caught  in 
some  machinery  in  his  father's  mill,  near  which  he 
was  idling  one  afternoon,  and  though  he  had  almost 
entirely  outgrown  the  effect  of  his  injury,  it  had  not 
been  until  after  many  years.  He  had  been  in  college, 
but  his  eyes  had  given  out  there,  and  he  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  in  the  middle  of  his  junior  year, 
though  he  had  kept  up  a  pleasant  intercourse  with 
the  members  of  his  class,  with  whom  he  had  been  a 
great  favorite.  He  was  a  good  deal  of  an  idler  in  the 


TOM'S  Htf&BAND.  215 

world.  I  do  not  think  his  ambition,  except  in  the 
case  of  securing  Mary  Dunn  for  his  wife,  had  ever 
been  distinct ;  he  seemed  to  make  the  most  he  could 
of  each  day  as  it  came,  without  making  all  his  days' 
works  tend  toward  some  grand  result,  and  go  to 
ward  the  upbuilding  of  some  grand  plan  and  purpose. 
He  consequently  gave  no  promise  of  being  either  dis 
tinguished  or  great.  When  his  eyes  would  allow,  he 
was  an  indefatigable  reader ;  and  although  he  would 
have  said  that  he  read  only  for  amusement,  yet  he 
amused  himself  with  books  that  were  well  worth  the 
time  he  spent  over  them. 

The  house  where  he  lived  nominally  belonged  to 
his  step-mother,  but  she  had  taken  for  granted  that 
Tom  would  bring  his  wife  home  to  it,  and  assured 
him  that  it  should  be  to  all  intents  and  purposes  his. 
Tom  was  deeply  attached  to  the  old  place,  which  was 
altogether  the  pleasantest  in  town.  He  had  kept 
bachelor's  hall  there  most  of  the  time  since  his  father's 
death,  and  he  had  taken  great  pleasure,  before  his 
marriage,  in  refitting  it  to  some  extent,  though  it 
was  already  comfortable  and  furnished  in  remarkably 
good  taste.  People  said  of  him  that  if  it  had  not 
been  for  his  illnesses,  and  if  he  had  been  a  poor  boy, 
he  probably  would  have  made  something  of  himself. 
As  it  was,  he  was  not  very  well  known  by  the  towns- 


216  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

people,  being  somewhat  reserved,  and  not  taking 
much  interest  in  their  every-day  subjects  of  conversa 
tion.  Nobody  liked  him  so  well  as  they  liked  his 
wife,  yet  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  be  dis 
liked  enough  to  have  much  said  about  him. 

After  our  friends  had  been  married  for  some  time, 
and  had  outlived  the  first  strangeness  of  the  new 
order  of  things,  and  had  done  their  duty  to  their 
neighbors  with  so  much  apparent  willingness  and 
generosity  that  even  Tom  himself  was  liked  a  great 
deal  better  than  he  ever  had  been  before,  they  were 
sitting  together  one  stormy  evening  in  the  library, 
before  the  fire.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  been  reading  Tom 
the  letters  which  had  come  to  him  by  the  night's 
mail.  There  was  a  long  one  from  his  sister  in  Na 
gasaki,  which  had  been  written  with  a  good  deal  of 
ill-disguised  reproach.  She  complained  of  the  small- 
ness  of  the  income  of  her  share  in  her  father's  es 
tate,  and  said  that  she  had  been  assured  by  American 
friends  that  the  smaller  mills  were  starting  up  every 
where,  and  beginning  to  do  well  again.  Since  so 
much  of  their  money  was  invested  in  the  factory,  she 
had  been  surprised  and  sorry  to  find  by  Tom's  last 
letters  that  he  had  seemed  to  have  no  idea  of  putting 
in  a  proper  person  as  superintendent,  and  going  to 
work  again.  Four  per  cent,  on  her  other  property, 


TOM1 8  H&SBAND.  217 

which  she  had  been  told  she  must  soon  expect  in 
stead  of  eight,  would  make  a  great  difference  to  her. 
A  navy  captain  in  a  foreign  port  was  obliged  to  enter 
tain  a  great  deal,  and  Tom  must  know  that  it  cost 
them  much  more  to  live  than  it  did  him,  and  ought 
to  think  of  their  interests.  She  hoped  he  would  talk 
over  what  was  best  to  be  done  with  their  mother 
(who  had  been  made  executor,  with  Tom,  of  his  fa 
ther's  will). 

Tom  laughed  a  little,  but  looked  disturbed.  His 
wife  had  said  something  to  the  same  effect,  and  his 
mother  had  spoken  once  or  twice  in  her  letters  of 
the  prospect  of  starting  the  mill  again.  He  was  not 
a  bit  of  a  business  man,  and  he  did  not  feel  certain, 
with  the  theories  which  he  had  arrived  at  of  the  state 
of  the  country,  that  it  was  safe  yet  to  spend  the 
money  which  would  have  to  be  spent  in  putting  the 
mill  in  order.  "  They  think  that  the  minute  it  is  go 
ing  again  we  shall  be  making  money  hand  over  hand, 
just  as  father  did  when  we  were  children,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  going  to  cost  us  no  end  of  money  before  we 
can  make  anything.  Before  father  died  he  meant  to 
put  in  a  good  deal  of  new  machinery,  I  remember. 
I  don't  know  anything  about  the  business  myself,  and 
I  would  have  sold  out  long  ago  if  I  had  had  an  of 
fer  that  came  anywhere  near  the  value.  The  larger 


218  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

mills  are  the  only  ones  that  are  good  for  anything 
now,  and  we  should  have  to  bring  a  crowd  of  French 
Canadians  here  ;  the  day  is  past  for  the  people  who 
live  in  this  part  of  the  country  to  go  into  the  factory 
again.  Even  the  Irish  all  go  West  when  they  come 
into  the  country,  and  don't  come  to  places  like  this 
any  more." 

"  But  there  are  a  good  many  of  the  old  work-peo 
ple  down  in  the  village,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson.  "  Jack 
Towne  asked  me  the  other  day  if  you  were  n't  going 
to  start  up  in  the  spring." 

Tom  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  I  '11  put  you 
in  for  superintendent,  if  you  like,"  he  said,  half  an 
grily,  whereupon  Mary  threw  the  newspaper  at  him; 
but  by  the  time  he  had  thrown  it  back  he  was  in 
good  humor  again. 

"  Do  you  know,  Tom,"  she  said,  with  amazing 
seriousness,  "  that  I  believe  I  should  like  nothing  in 
the  world  so  much  as  to  be  the  head  of  a  large  busi 
ness  ?  I  hate  keeping  house,  —  I  always  did  ;  and 
I  never  did  so  much  of  it  in  all  my  life  put  together 
as  I  have  since  I  have  been  married.  I  suppose  it 
is  n't  womanly  to  say  so,  but  if  I  could  escape  from 
the  whole  thing  I  believe  I  should  be  perfectly  happy. 
If  you  get  rich  when  the  mill  is  going  again,  I  shall 
beg  for  a  housekeeper,  and  shirk  everything.  I  give 


TO^f>S  HUSBAND.  219 

you  fair  warning.  I  don't  believe  I  keep  this  house 
half  so  well  as  you  did  before  I  came  here." 

Tom's  eyes  twinkled.  "  I  am  going  to  have  that 
glory,  —  I  don't  think  you  do,  Polly  ;  but  you  can't 
say  that  I  have  not  been  forbearing.  I  certainly 
have  not  told  you  more  than  twice  how  we  used  to 
have  things  cooked.  I  'm  not  going  to  be  your 
kitchen-colonel." 

"  Of  course  it  seemed  the  proper  thing  to  do,"  said 
his  wife,  meditatively  ;  "  but  I  think  we  should  have 
been  even  happier  than  we  have  if  I  had  been  spared 
it.  I  have  had  some  days  of  wretchedness  that  I 
shudder  to  think  of.  I  never  know  what  to  have  for 
breakfast ;  and  I  ought  not  to  say  it,  but  I  don't 
mind  the  sight  of  dust.  I  look  upon  housekeeping 
as  my  life's  great  discipline  ;  "  and  at  this  pathetic 
confession  they  both  laughed  heartily. 

"  I  've  a  great  mind  to  take  it  off  your  hands," 
said  Tom.  "  I  always  rather  liked  it,  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  I  ought  to  be  a  better  housekeeper,  —  I 
have  been  at  it  for  five  years  ;  though  housekeeping 
for  one  is  different  from  what  it  is  for  two,  and  one 
of  them  a  woman.  You  see  you  have  brought  a  dif 
ferent  element  into  my  family.  Luckily,  the  serv 
ants  are  pretty  well  drilled.  I  do  think  you  upset 
them  a  good  deal  at  first !  " 


220  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

Mary  Wilson  smiled  as  if  she  only  half  heard  what 
he  was  saying.  She  drummed  with  her  foot  on  the 
floor  and  looked  intently  at  the  fire,  and  presently 
gave  it  a  vigorous  poking.  "  Well  ?  "  said  Tom,  after 
he  had  waited  patiently  as  long  as  he  could. 

"  Tom  !  I  'm  going  to  propose  something  to  you. 
I  wish  you  would  really  do  as  you  said,  and  take  all 
the  home  affairs  under  your  care,  and  let  me  start 
the  mill.  I  am  certain  I  could  manage  it.  Of  course 
I  should  get  people  who  understood  the  thing  to  teach 
me.  I  believe  I  was  made  for  it ;  I  should  like  it 
above  all  things.  And  this  is  what  I  will  do  :  I  will 
bear  the  cost  of  starting  it,  myself,  —  I  think  I  have 
money  enough,  or  can  get  it ;  and  if  I  have  not  put 
affairs  in  the  right  trim  at  the  end  of  a  year  I  will 
stop,  and  you  may  make  some  other  arrangement.  If 
I  have,  you  and  your  mother  and  sister  can  pay  me 
back." 

"  So  I  am  going  to  be  the  wife,  and  you  the  hus 
band,"  said  Tom,  a  little  indignantly  ;  "  at  least,  that 
is  what  people  will  say.  It 's  a  regular  Darby  and 
Joan  affair,  and  you  think  you  can  do  more  work  in 
a  day  than  I  can  do  in  three.  Do  you  know  that 
you  must  go  to  town  to  buy  cotton  ?  And  do  you 
know  there  are  a  thousand  things  about  it  that  you 
don't  know  ?  " 


TOM'S  HUSBAND.  221 

"  And  never  will  ?  "  said  Mary,  with  perfect  good 
humor  "  Why,  Tom,  I  can  learn  as  well  as  you, 
and  a  good  deal  better,  for  I  like  business,  and  you 
don't.  You  forget  that  I  was  always  father's  right- 
hand  man  after  I  was  a  dozen  years  old,  and  that  you 
have  let  me  invest  my  money  and  some  of  your  own, 
and  I  have  n't  made  a  blunder  yet." 

Tom  thought  that  his  wife  had  never  looked  so 
handsome  or  so  happy.  "  I  don't  care,  I  should 
rather  like  the  fun  of  knowing  what  people  will  say. 
It  is  a  new  departure,  at  any  rate.  Women  think 
they  can  do  everything-  better  than  men  in  these 
days,  but  I  'm  the  first  man,  apparently,  who  has 
wished  he  were  a  woman." 

"  Of  course  people  will  laugh,"  said  Mary,  "  but 
they  will  say  that  it 's  just  like  me,  and  think  I  am 
fortunate  to  have  married  a  man  who  will  let  me  do 
as  I  choose.  I  don't  see  why  it  is  n't  sensible  :  you 
will  be  living  exactly  as  you  were  before  you  mar 
ried,  as  to  home  affairs  ;  and  since  it  was  a  good 
thing  for  you  to  know  something  about  housekeeping 
then,  I  can't  imagine  why  you  should  n't  go  on  with 
it  now,  since  it  makes  me  miserable,  and  I  am  wast 
ing  a  fine  business  talent  while  I  do  it.  What  do  we 
care  for  people's  talking  about  it  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  something  like  women's 


222  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

smoking  :  it  is  n't  wicked,  but  it  is  n't  the  custom  of 
the  country.  And  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  your  go 
ing  among  business  men.  Of  course  I  should  be 
above  going  with  you,  and  having  people  think  I 
must  be  an  idiot ;  they  would  say  that  you  married 
a  manufacturing  interest,  and  I  was  thrown  in.  I 
can  foresee  that  my  pride  is  going  to  be  humbled  to 
the  dust  in  every  way,"  Tom  declared  in  mournful 
tones,  and  began  to  shake  with  laughter.  "  It  is  one 
of  your  lovely  castles  in  the  air,  dear  Polly,  but  an 
old  brick  mill  needs  a  better  foundation  than  the 
clouds.  No,  I  '11  look  around,  and  get  an  honest,  ex 
perienced  man  for  agent.  I  suppose  it 's  the  best 
thing  we  can  do,  for  the  machinery  ought  not  to  lie 
still  any  longer  ;  but  I  mean  to  sell  the  factory  as 
soon  as  I  can.  I  devoutly  wish  it  would  take  fire, 
for  the  insurance  would  be  the  best  price  we  are 
likely  to  get.  That  is  a  famous  letter  from  Alice  ! 
I  am  afraid  the  captain  has  been  growling  over  his 
pay,  or  they  have  been  giving  too  many  little  dinners 
on  board  ship.  If  we  were  rid  of  the  mill,  you  and 
I  might  go  out  there  this  winter.  It  would  be  cap 
ital  fun." 

Mary  smiled  again  in  an  absent-minded  way.  Tom 
had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  he  had  not  heard  the  end 
of  it  yet,  but  nothing  more  was  said  for  a  day  or  two. 


TOM'S  B&SBAND.  223 

When  Mrs.  Tom  Wilson  announced,  with  no  ap 
parent  thought  of  being  contradicted,  that  she  had 
entirely  made  up  her  mind,  and  she  meant  to  see 
those  men  who  had  been  overseers  of  the  different 
departments,  who  still  lived  in  the  village,  and  have 
the  mill  put  in  order  at  once,  Tom  looked  disturbed, 
but  made  no  opposition  ;  and  soon  after  breakfast  his 
wife  formally  presented  him  with  a  handful  of  keys, 
and  told  him  there  was  some  lamb  in  the  house  for 
dinner ;  and  presently  he  heard  the  wheels  of  her 
little  phaeton  rattling  off  down  the  road.  I  should 
be  untruthful  if  I  tried  to  persuade  any  one  that  he 
was  not  provoked  ;  he  thought  she  would  at  least 
have  waited  for  his  formal  permission,  and  at  first  he 
meant  to  take  another  horse,  and  chase  her,  and  bring 
her  back  in  disgrace,  and  put  a  stop  to  the  whole 
thing.  But  something  assured  him  that  she  knew 
what  she  was  about,  and  he  determined  to  let  her 
have  her  own  way.  If  she  failed,  it  might  do  no 
harm,  and  this  was  the  only  ungallant  thought  he 
gave  her.  He  was  sure  that  she  would  do  nothing 
unladylike,  or  be  unmindful  of  his  dignity  ;  and  he 
believed  it  would  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  her  odd, 
independent  freaks,  which  always  had  won  respect  in 
the  end,  however  much  they  had  been  laughed  at  in 
the  beginning.  "  Susan,"  said  he,  as  that  estimable 


224  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

person  went  by  the  door  with  the  dust-pan,  "  you 
may  tell  Catherine  to  come  to  me  for  orders  about 
the  house,  and  you  may  do  so  yourself.  I  am  going 
to  take  charge  again,  as  I  did  before  I  was  married. 
It  is  no  trouble  to  me,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  dislikes  it. 
Besides,  she  is  going  into  business,  and  will  have  a 
great  deal  else  to  think  of." 

"Yes,  sir;  very  well,  sir,"  said  Susan,  who  was 
suddenly  moved  to  ask  so  many  questions  that  she 
was  utterly  silent.  But  her  master  looked  very 
happy  ;  there  was  evidently  no  disapproval  of  his 
wife  ;  and  she  went  on  up  the  stairs,  and  began  to 
sweep  them  down,  knocking  the  dust-brush  about  ex 
citedly,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  kill  a  descending 
colony  of  insects. 

Tom  went  out  to  the  stable  and  mounted  his  horse, 
which  had  been  waiting  for  him  to  take  his  customary 
after-breakfast  ride  to  the  post-office,  and  he  galloped 
down  the  road  in  quest  of  the  phaeton.  He  saw 
Mary  talking  with  Jack  Towne,  who  had  been  an 
overseer  and  a  valued  workman  of  his  father's.  He 
was  looking  much  surprised  and  pleased. 

"  I  was  n't  caring  so  much  about  getting  work, 
myself,"  he  explained ;  "  I  've  got  what  will  carry 
me  and  my  wife  through  ;  but  it  '11  be  better  for  the 
young  folks  about  here  to  work  near  home.  My 


TOM'S  JTUSBAND.  225 

nephews  are  wanting  something  to  do  ;  they  were 
going  to  Lynn  next  week.  I  don't  say  but  I  should 
like  to  be  to  work  in  the  old  place  again.  I  've  sort 
of  missed  it,  since  we  shut  down." 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  was  so  long  in  overtaking  you,"  said 
Tom,  politely,  to  his  wife.  "  Well,  Jack,  did  Mrs. 
Wilson  tell  you  she  's  going  to  start  the  mill  ?  You 
must  give  her  all  the  help  you  can." 

"  'Deed  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Tovvne,  gallantly,  with 
out  a  bit  of  astonishment. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  business  yet,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson,  who  had  been  a  little  overcome  at  Jack 
Towne's  lingo  of  the  different  rooms  and  machinerjr, 
and  who  felt  an  overpowering  sense  of  having  a  great 
deal  before  her  in  the  next  few  weeks.  "  By  the 
time  the  mill  is  ready,  I  will  be  ready,  too,"  she  said, 
taking  heart  a  little ;  and  Tom,  who  was  quick  to 
understand  her  moods,  could  not  help  laughing,  as  he 
rode  alongside.  "  We  want  a  new  barrel  of  flour, 
Tom,  dear,"  she  said,  by  way  of  punishment  for  his 
untimely  mirth. 

If  she  lost  courage  in  the  long  delay,  or  was  dis 
heartened  at  the  steady  call  for  funds,  she  made  no 
sign ;  and  after  a  while  the  mill  started  up,  and  her 
cares  were  lightened,  so  that  she  told  Tom  that  be 
fore  next  pay  day  she  would  like  to  go  to  Boston  for 
15 


226  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

a  few  days,  and  go  to  the  theatre,  and  have  a  frolic 
and  a  rest.  She  really  looked  pale  and  thin,  and  she 
said  she  never  worked  so  hard  in  all  her  life  ;  but 
nobody  knew  how  happy  she  was,  and  she  was  so 
glad  she  had  married  Tom,  for  some  men  would  have 

0  7 

laughed  at  it. 

"  I  laughed  at  it,"  said  Tom,  meekly.     "  All  is,  if 

1  don't  cry  by  and  by,  because  I  am  a  beggar,  I  shall 
be  lucky."     But  Mary  looked  fearlessly  serene,  and 
said  that  there  was  no  danger  at  present. 

It  would  have  been  ridiculous  to  expect  a  dividend 
the  first  year,  though  the  Nagasaki  people  were  paci 
fied  with  difficulty.  All  the  business  letters  came  to 
Tom's  address,  and  everybody  who  was  not  directly 
concerned  thought  that  he  was  the  motive  power  of 
the  reawakened  enterprise.  Sometimes  business  peo 
ple  came  to  the  mill,  and  were  amazed  at  having  to 
confer  with  Mrs.  Wilson,  but  they  soon  had  to  re 
spect  her  talents  and  her  success.  She  was  helped 
by  the  old  clerk,  who  had  been  promptly  recalled  and 
reinstated,  and  she  certainly  did  capitally  well.  She 
was  laughed  at,  as  she  had  expected  to  be,  and  peo 
ple  said  they  should  think  Tom  would  be  ashamed  of 
himself ;  but  it  soon  appeared  that  he  was  not  to 
blame,  arid  what  reproach  was  offered  was  on  the 
score  of  his  wife's  oddity.  There  was  nothing  about 


TOM'S  HUSBAND.  227 

the  mill  that  she  did  not  understand  before  very  long, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  second  year  she  declared  a 
small  dividend  with  great  pride  and  triumph.  And 
she  was  congratulated  on  her  success,  and  every  one 
thought  of  her  project  in  a  different  way  from  the 
way  they  had  thought  of  it  in  the  beginning.  She 
had  singularly  good  fortune  :  at  the  end  of  the  third 
year  she  was  making  money  for  herself  and  her 
friends  faster  than  most  people  were,  and  approving 
letters  began  to  come  from  Nagasaki.  The  Ashtons 
had  been  ordered  to  stay  in  that  region,  and  it  was 
evident  that  they  were  continually  being  obliged  to 
entertain  more  instead  of  less.  Their  children  were 
growing  fast,  too,  and  constantly  becoming  more  ex 
pensive.  The  captain  and  his  wife  had  already  be 
gun  to  congratulate  themselves  secretly  that  their 
two  sons  would  in  all  probability  come  into  posses 
sion,  one  day,  of  their  uncle  Tom's  handsome  prop 
erty. 

For  a  good  while  Tom  enjoyed  life,  and  went  on 
his  quiet  way  serenely.  He  was  anxious  at  first,  for 
he  thought  that  Mary  was  going  to  make  ducks  and 
drakes  of  his  money  and  her  own.  And  then  he  did 
not  exactly  like  the  looks  of  the  thing,  either ;  he 
feared  that  his  wife  was  growing  successful  as  a  busi 
ness  person  at  the  risk  of  losing  her  womanliness. 


228  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

But  as  time  went  on,  and  he  found  there  was  no  fear 
of  that,  he  accepted  the  situation  philosophically.  He 
gave  up  his  collection  of  engravings,  having  become 
more  interested  in  one  of  coins  and  medals,  which 
took  up  most  of  his  leisure  time.  He  often  went  to 
the  city  in  pursuit  of  such  treasures,  and  gained  much 
renown  in  certain  quarters  as  a  numismatologist  of 
great  skill  and  experience.  But  at  last  his  house 
(which  had  almost  kept  itself,  and  had  given  him  lit 
tle  to  do  beside  ordering  the  dinners,  while  faithful 
old  Catherine  and  her  niece  Susan  were  his  aids)  sud 
denly  became  a  great  care  to  him.  Catherine,  who 
had  been  the  main-stay  of  the  family  for  many  years, 
died  after  a  short  illness,  and  Susan  must  needs 
choose  that  time,  of  all  others,  for  being  married  to 
one  of  the  second  hands  in  the  mill.  There  followed 
a  long  and  dismal  season  of  experimenting,  and  for  a 
time  there  was  a  procession  of  incapable  creatures  go 
ing  in  at  one  kitchen  door  and  out  of  the  other.  His 
wife  would  not  have  liked  to  say  so,  but  it  seemed  to 
her  that  Tom  was  growing  fussy  about  the  house  af 
fairs,  and  took  more  notice  of  those  minor  details 
than  he  used.  She  wished  more  than  once,  when  she 
was  tired,  that  he  would  not  talk  so  much  about  the 
housekeeping  ;  he  seemed  sometimes  to  have  no  other 
thought 


TOM1 8  HUSBAND.  229 

In  the  early  days  of  Mrs.  Wilson's  business  life, 
she  had  made  it  a  rule  to  consult  her  husband  on 
every  subject  of  importance  ;  but  it  had  speedily 
proved  to  be  a  formality.  Tom  tried  manfully  to  show 
a  deep  interest  which  he  did  not  feel,  and  his  wife 
gave  up,  little  by  little,  telling  him  much  about  her 
affairs.  She  said  that  she  liked  to  drop  business  when 
ghe  came  home  in  the  evening ;  and  at  last  she  fell 
into  the  habit  of  taking  a  nap  on  the  library  sofa, 
while  Tom,  who  could  not  use  his  eyes  much  by 
lamp-light,  sat  smoking  or  in  utter  idleness  before 
the  fire.  When  they  were  first  married  his  wife  had 
made  it  a  rule  that  she  should  always  read  him  the 
evening  papers,  and  afterward  they  had  always  gone 
on  with  some  book  of  history  or  philosophy,  in  which 
they  were  both  interested.  These  evenings  of  their 
early  married  life  had  been  charming  to  both  of  them, 
and  from  time  to  time  one  would  say  to  the  other 
that  they  ought  to  take  up  again  the  habit  of  reading 
together.  Mary  was  so  unaffectedly  tired  in  the  even 
ing  that  Tom  never  liked  to  propose  a  walk ;  for, 
though  he  was  not  a  man  of  peculiarly  social  nature, 
he  had  always  been  accustomed  to  pay  an  occasional 
evening  visit  to  his  neighbors  in  the  village.  And 
though  he  had  little  interest  in  the  business  world, 
and  still  less  knowledge  of  it,  after  a  while  he  wished 


230  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

that  his  wife  would  have  more  to  say  about  what  she 
was  planning  and  doing,  or  how  things  were  getting 
on.  He  thought  that  her  chief  aid,  old  Mr.  Jackson, 
was  far  more  in  her  thoughts  than  he.  She  was  for 
ever  quoting  Jackson's  opinions.  He  did  not  like  to 
find  that  she  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  not  in 
terested  in  the  welfare  of  his  own  property  ;  it  made 
him  feel  like  a  sort  of  pensioner  and  dependent, 
though,  when  they  had  guests  at  the  house,  which 
was  by  no  means  seldom,  there  was  nothing  in  her 
manner  that  would  imply  that  she  thought  herself  in 
any  way  the  head  of  the  family.  It  was  hard  work 
to  find  fault  with  his  wife  in  any  way,  though,  to 
give  him  his  due,  he  rarely  tried. 

But,  this  being  a  wholly  unnatural  state  of  things, 
the  reader  must  expect  to  hear  of  its  change  at  last, 
and  the  first  blow  from  the  enemy  was  dealt  by  an 
old  woman,  who  lived  near  by,  and  who  called  to 
Tom  one  morning,  as  he  was  driving  down  to  the 
village  in  a  great  hurry  (to  post  a  letter,  which  or 
dered  his  agent  to  secure  a  long-wished-for  ancient 
copper  coin,  at  any  price),  to  ask  him  if  they  had 
made  yeast  that  week,  and  if  she  could  borrow  a  cup 
ful,  as  her  own  had  met  with  some  misfortune.  Tom 
was  instantly  in  a  rage,  and  he  mentally  condemned 


TOM'S   HUSBAND.  231 

her  to  some  undeserved  fate,  but  told  her  aloud  to  go 
and  see  the  cook.  This  slight  delay,  besides  being 
killing  to  his  dignity,  caused  him  to  lose  the  mail, 
and  in  the  end  his  much-desired  copper  coin.  It  was 
a  hard  day  for  him,  altogether  ;  it  was  Wednesday, 
and  the  first  days  of  the  week  having  been  stormy 
the  washing  was  very  late.  And  Mary  came  home  to 
dinner  provokingly  good-natured.  She  had  met  an 
old  school-mate  and  her  husband  driving  home  from 
the  mountains,  and  had  first  taken  them  over  her  fac 
tory,  to  their  great  amusement  and  delight,  and  then 
had  brought  them  home  to  dinner.  Tom  greeted 
them  cordially,  and  manifested  his  usual  graceful  hos 
pitality  ;  but  the  minute  he  saw  his  wife  alone  he  said 
in  a  plaintive  tone  of  rebuke,  "  I  should  think  you 
might  have  remembered  that  the  servants  are  unusu- 

o 

ally  busy  to-day.  I  do  wish  you  would  take  a  little 
interest  in  things  at  home.  The  women  have  been 
washing,  and  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  a 
dinner  we  can  give  your  friends.  I  wish  you  had 
thought  to  bring  home  some  steak.  I  have  been 
busy  myself,  and  could  n't  go  down  to  the  village.  I 
thought  we  would  only  have  a  lunch." 

Mary  was  hungry,  but  she  said  nothing,  except 
that  it  would  be  all  right, —  she  didn't  mind;  and 
perhaps  they  could  have  some  canned  soup. 


232  TOM'S  HUSBAND. 

She  often  went  to  town  to  buy  or  look  at  cotton, 
or  to  see  some  improvement  in  machinery,  and  she 
brought  home  beautiful  bits  of  furniture  and  new  pic 
tures  for  the  house,  and  showed  a  touching  thought- 
fulness  in  remembering  Tom's  fancies  ;  but  somehow 
he  had  an  uneasy  suspicion  that  she  could  get  along 
pretty  well  without  him  when  it  came  to  the  deeper 
wishes  and  hopes  of  her  life,  and  that  her  most  im 
portant  concerns  were  all  matters  in  which  he  had  no 
share.  He  seemed  to  himself  to  have  merged  his 

o 

life  in  his  wife's ;  he  lost  his  interest  in  things  out. 
side  the  house  and  grounds ;  he  felt  himself  fast 
growing  rusty  and  behind  the  times,  and  to  have 
somehow  missed  a  good  deal  in  life ;  he  had  a  sus 
picion  that  he  was  a  failure.  One  day  the  thought 
rushed  over  him  that  his  had  been  almost  exactly 
the  experience  of  most  women,  and  he  wondered  if 
it  really  was  any  more  disappointing  and  ignominious 
to  him  than  it  was  to  women  themselves.  u  Some  of 
them  may  be  contented  with  it,"  he  said  to  himself, 
soberly.  "  People  think  women  are  designed  for 
such  careers  by  nature,  but  I  don't  know  why  I  ever 
made  such  a  fool  of  myself." 

Having  once  seen  his  situation  in  life  from  such  a 
stand-point,  he  felt  it  day  by  day  to  be  more  degrad 
ing,  and  he  wondered  what  he  should  do  about  it ; 


TOM'S  HUSBAND.  233 

and  once,  drawn  by  a  new,  strange  sympathy,  he 
went  to  the  little  family  burying-ground.  It  was  one 
of  the  mild,  dim  days  that  come  sometimes  in  early 
November,  when  the  pale  sunlight  is  like  the  pathetic 
smile  of  a  sad  face,  and  he  sat  for  a  long  time  on  the 
limp,  frost-bitten  grass  beside  his  mother's  grave. 

But  when  he  went  home  in  the  twilight  his  step 
mother,  who  just  then  was  making  them  a  little  visit, 
mentioned  that  she  had  been  looking  through  some 
boxes  of  hers  that  had  been  packed  long  before  and 
stowed  away  in  the  garret.  "  Everything  looks  very 
nice  up  there,"  she  said,  in  her  wheezing  voice  (which, 
worse  than  usual  that  day,  always  made  him  nerv 
ous)  ;  and  added,  without  any  intentional  slight  to 
his  feelings,  "  I  do  think  you  have  always  been  a 
most  excellent  housekeeper." 

"  I  'm  tired  of  such  nonsense  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with 
surprising  indignation.  "  Mary,  I  wish  you  to  ar 
range  your  affairs  so  that  you  can  leave  them  for  six 
months  at  least.  I  am  going  to  spend  this  winter  in 
Europe." 

"  Why,  Tom,  dear !  "  said  his  wife,  appealingly. 
"  I  could  n't  leave  my  business  any  way  in  the  "  — 

But  she  caught  sight  of  a  look  on  his  usually  placid 
countenance  that  was  something  more  than  decision, 
and  refrained  from  saying  anything  more. 

And  three  weeks  from  that  day  they  sailed. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE- 
BKEAKER. 


THIS  confession  differs  from  that  of  most  criminals 
who  are  classed  under  the  same  head ;  for  whereas 
house-breakers  usually  break  into  houses,  I  broke 
out.  It  was  not  a  difficult  exit,  for  there  was  no 
glass  to  be  broken,  nor  any  occasion  for  a  burglar's 
tool-box.  The  truth  is  that  one  night,  lately,  I  could 
not  sleep,  and  when  the  eastern  sky  began  to  show 
a  tinge  of  light  I  seated  myself  by  the  window  ;  and 
by  the  time  the  clocks  and  bells  of  the  neighborhood 
struck  three,  I  became  possessed  by  a  desire  to  go 
out-of-doors  to  watch  the  coming  of  the  June  morn 
ing,  and  to  see  the  world  before  the  sun  himself  did, 
arid  to  hear  the  matins  of  the  birds  from  beginning  to 
end,  because  I  had  been  at  best  an  unpunctual  wor 
shiper  at  this  service.  An  occasional  early  waking 
or  late  falling  asleep  had  given  me  a  fragment  of  the 
music ;  but  it  was  much  like  the  way  a  foreign  tour 
ist  saunters  idly  in  at  the  door  of  a  cathedral  while 
mass  is  being  performed. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER.     235 

So  after  I  had  leaned  out  of  my  eastern  window 
for  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  had  heard  one  sleepy 
note  from  the  top  of  an  elm  not  far  away,  I  dressed 
myself  hurriedly,  and  took  my  boots  in  my  hand,  and 
prepared  to  escape.  It  was  no  easy  matter,  for  I  be 
long  to  a  household  of  light  sleepers,  who  are  quick 
to  hear  an  untimely  footfall.  I  stole  carefully  by  the 
open  doors  and  down  the  stairs,  remembering  fear 
fully  that  one  was  apt  to  creak,  and  I  hardly  took  a 
long  breath  until  I  found  myself  out  in  the  garden. 

It  was  startlingly  dark  under  the  trees,  and  the 
alarmed  shadows  appeared  to  be  hovering  there  as  if 
to  discuss  the  next  move,  and  to  find  shelter  mean 
while.  A  bat  went  by  me  suddenly,  and  at  that  I 
stood  still.  I  had  not  thought  of  bats,  and  of  all 
creatures  they  seem  most  frightful  and  unearthly,  — 
like  the  flutter  of  a  ghost's  mantle,  or  even  the  wave 
and  touch  of  its  hand.  A  bat  by  daylight  is  a  harm 
less,  crumpled  bit  of  stupidity  ;  but  by  night  it  be 
comes  a  creature  of  mystery  and  horror,  an  attendant 
of  the  powers  of  darkness.  The  white  light  in  the 
sky  grew  whiter  still,  and  under  the  thin  foliage  of  a 
great  willow  it  seemed  less  solemn.  A  bright  little 
waning  moon  looked  down  through  the  slender  twigs 
and  fine  leaves,  —  it  might  have  been  a  new  moon 
watching  me  through  an  olive-tree ;  but  I  caught  the 


236     THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER. 

fragrance  of  the  flowers,  and  hurried  toward  them.  I 
went  back  and  forth  along  the  garden  walks,  and  I 
can  never  tell  any  one  how  beautiful  it  was.  The 
roses  were  all  in  bloom,  and  presently  I  could  detect 
the  different  colors.  They  were  wet  with  dew,  and 
hung  heavy  with  their  weight  of  perfume  ;  they  ap 
peared  to  be  sound  asleep  yet,  and  turned  their  faces 
away  after  I  had  touched  them. 

Some  of  the  flowers  were  wide  awake,  however. 
One  never  knows  the  grace  and  beauty  of  white 
petunias  until  they  have  been  seen  at  night,  or,  like 
this,  early  in  the  morning.  It  is  when  the  dew  has 
fallen  that  this  delicate  flower  and  mignonette  also 
give  out  their  best  fragrance ;  and  if  one  is  lucky 
enough  to  be  able  to  add  the  old-fashioned  honey 
suckle  his  garden  is  odorous  indeed.  Roses  need 
the  sunshine  to  bring  out  their  full  beauties,  though 
when  I  held  my  face  close  to  the  great  wet  clusters 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  taken  all  their  store  of 
perfume  for  the  coming  day  in  one  long,  delicious 
breath.  The  white  flowers  looked  whiter  still  in  the 
pale  light,  and  the  taller  bushes  were  like  draped 
figures  ;  and  suddenly  I  was  reminded,  nobody  knows 
why,  of  a  long  walk  with  some  friends  through  the 
damp  avenues  of  Versailles,  when  the  leaves  were 
beginning  to  fall,  and  the  garden  of  the  Little 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER.     237 

Trianon  was  gay  with  blossoms.  I  remembered  most 
vividly  how  warm  the  sunshine  was  upon  the  ter 
races  ;  how  empty  and  silent  the  pathetic  holiday 
rooms  ;  how  we  strained  our  eyes  to  catch  sight  of 
the  ghosts  who  must  be  flitting  before  us,  and  trying 
to  keep  out  of  sight,  lest  one  of  us  might  be  a  seer  of 
spirits,  and  might  intrude  upon  their  peaceful  exist 
ence.  If  there  were  a  little  noise  in  the  court-yard, 
I  thought  it  was  the  merry  servants  of  a  hundred 
years  ago,  busy  with  their  every-day  duties.  The 
scent  of  the  petunias  and  geraniums  and  mignonette 
was  filling  all  the  air.  We  were  only  stealing  in 
while  the  tenants  of  the  house  were  sleeping,  or  were 
away  in  Paris  ;  we  had  not  even  a  fear  or  suspicion 
of  their  sorry  end.  It  was  a  strange  jumble  of  remi 
niscences,  personal  and  historical,  that  flitted  through 
my  mind,  as  I  went  walking  slowly  up  and  down  my 
own  New  England  garden,  among  the  roses,  in  the 
middle  of  the  night. 

I  could  not  say  it  was  the  middle  of  the  night,  or 
still  less  the  dead  of  night,  and  have  any  respect  for 
myself  as  a  truth-teller.  It  had  suddenly  become 
morning.  I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  garden  benches, 
and  watched  and  listened.  A  pewee  began  a  prelude 
-  somewhat  despairingly  and  without  enthusiasm,  and 
the  song-sparrows  tried  to  cheer  him,  or  at  least  to 


238     THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER. 

make  him  hurry  a  little.  The  bobolinks  tuned  up, 
and  the  golden  robins  ;  and  presently  the  solos  were 
over,  and  the  grand  chorus  began.  One  joyful  robin, 
who  had  posted  himself  on  the  corner  of  a  roof  where 
I  could  see  him,  seemed  to  have  constituted  himself 
leader  of  the  choir,  and  sang  and  sang,  until  I  feared 
for  his  dear  life;  one  would  have  thought  he  had 
reached  bird-heaven  before  his  time.  It  must  have 
been  the  dawn  of  a  long-looked-for  day  with  him,  at 
any  rate,  he  was  so  glad  to  have  it  come  at  last.  I 
remembered  the  young  English  soldier  whom  Howells 
saw  at  daybreak  in  Venice,  and  I  hoped  that  I  should 
know  in  another  world  how  my  robin  liked  the  day's 
pleasure,  after  all. 

I  became  very  neighborly  with  a  sober-minded  toad, 
that  gave  an  eager  scramble  from  among  the  flower- 
de-luces,  and  then  sat  still  on  the  gravel  walk,  blink 
ing  and  looking  at  me,  as  if  he  had  made  plans  for  sit 
ting  on  the  garden  bench,  and  I  was  giving  him  great 
inconvenience.  He  was  a  philosopher,  that  fellow  ;  he 
sat  and  thought  about  it,  and  made  his  theories  about 
me  and  about  the  uncertainty  of  temporal  things.  I 
dare  say  he  comes  out  every  morning,  and  looks  up 
at  the  bench,  and  considers  his  ambitions  and  the  ad 
verse  powers  that  thwart  them,  in  common  with  many 
of  his  fellow-creatures. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER.     239 

The  colors  of  the  world  grew  brighter  and  brighter. 
The  outline  of  the  trees,  and  of  some  distant  fields 
even,  became  distinct ;  yet  it  was  a  strange,  almost 
uncanny  light,  —  it  was  more  like  looking  through 
clear  water,  —  and  I  still  expected  something  out  of 
the  ordinary  course  to  happen.  I  was  not  continuing 
my  thoughts  and  plans  of  the  day  before,  though 
suddenly  I  became  conscious  that  one  of  my  friends 
was  awake,  and  an  understanding  between  us  sprang 
up  quickly,  like  a  flame  on  the  altar  to  Friendship, 
in  my  heart.  It  was  pleasant,  after  all,  to  have  hu 
man  companionship,  and  it  was  difficult  to  persuade 
myself  that  the  mysterious  telegraph  between  my 
friend  and  me  measured  so  many  miles.  I  thought  of 
one  and  another  remote  acquaintance  after  this,  but 
only  the  first  was  awake  and  watching  at  that  strange 
hour  ;  the  rest  slept  soundly,  and  with  something  ap 
proaching  clairvoyance  I  fancied  that  I  could  see 
their  sleeping  faces  arid  their  unconsciousness,  as  I 
looked  into  one  shaded  room  after  another.  How 
wonderful  the  courage  is  which  lets  us  lie  down  to 
sleep  unquestioningly,  night  after  night,  and  even 
wait  and  wish  for  it !  We  have  a  horror  of  the  drugs 
that  simulate  its  effect ;  we  think  we  are  violating 
and  tampering  with  the  laws  of  nature,  and  make  the 
false  sleep  a  last  resource  in  illness  or  a  sinful  self- 


240     THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER. 

indulgence.  But  in  the  real  sleep,  what  comes  to 
us  ?  What  change  and  restoration  and  growth  to 
the  mind  and  soul  matches  the  physical  rest  which 
does  us  good  and  makes  us  strong  ?  He  giveth  to  his 
beloved  while  sleeping,  is  the  true  rendering  from  the 
Psalms. 

No  wonder  that  in  the  early  days  a  thousand  follies 
and  fables  and  legends  were  based  on  the  dreams  and 
mysteries  of  sleep.  No  wonder  that  we  gain  confi 
dence  to  approach  the  last  sleep  of  all,  since  we  find 
ourselves  alive  again  morning  by  morning.  And  as 
for  the  bewildered  state  into  which  some  of  us  fall  in 
our  later  years,  is  not  that  like  a  long  darkness  and 
drowsiness,  from  which  the  enfeebled  mind  and  body 
cannot  rouse  themselves  until  the  brightest  of  all 
mornings  dawns  ? 

The  ranks  of  flowers  in  my  garden  took  on  a  great 
splendor  of  bloom,  as  the  light  grew  clearer.  After 
having  watched  them  fade  in  the  gray  ness  of  many 
an  evening  twilight,  it  was  most  lovely  to  see  how 
the  veil  was  lifted  again  at  daybreak.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  quiet  June  morning  ushered  in  some  grand 
festival  day,  there  were  such  preparations  being  made. 
After  the  roses,  the  London  pride  was  most  gorgeous 
to  behold,  with  its  brilliant  red  and  its  tall,  straight 
stalks.  It  had  a  soldierly  appearance,  as  if  the  flower 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  ^  HOUSE-BREAKER.    241 

were  out  early  to  keep  guard.  Twice  as  many  birds 
as  one  ever  sees  in  the  day-time  were  scurrying 
fearlessly  through  the  air,  as  though  they  were  late 
to  breakfast,  at  any  rate,  and  had  a  crowd  of  duties 
to  attend  to  afterward.  The  grand  chorus  was  over 
with,  though  a  number  of  songsters  of  various  kinds 
kept  on  with  their  parts,  as  if  they  stayed  to  practice 
a  while  after  service,  though  the  rest  of  the  choris 
ters  had  thrown  off  their  surplices  and  hurried  away. 

I  had  a  desire  to  go  out  farther  into  the  world,  and 
I  went  some  distance  up  the  street,  past  my  neigh 
bors'  house ;  feeling  a  sense  of  guilt  and  secrecy  that 
could  hardly  be  matched.  It  had  been  one  thing  to 
walk  about  my  own  garden,  and  even  to  cross  the 
field  at  the  foot  of  it  to  say  good-morning  to  a  row  of 
elm-trees  and  the  robins  in  their  tops,  of  which  inci 
dent  I  forgot  to  speak  in  its  proper  place.  But  if 
any  one  had  suddenly  hailed  me  from  a  window  I 
should  have  been  inclined  to  run  home  as  fast  as  my 
feet  could  carry  me.  In  such  fashion  are  we  bound 
to  the  conventionalities  of  existence ! 

But  it  seemed  most  wonderful  to  be  awake  while 
everybody  slept,  and  to  have  the  machinery  of  life 
apparently  set  in  motion  for  my  benefit  alone.  The 
toad  had  been  a  comfort,  and  the  thought  of  my 
friend  even  more,  if  one  will  believe  it ;  and  besides 

1C 


242     THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  HOUSE-BREAKER. 

these,  I  had  become  very  intimate  with  a  poppy, 
which  had  made  every  arrangement  to  bloom  as  soon 
as  the  sun  rose.  As  I  walked  farther  and  farther 
from  home  I  felt  more  and  more  astray,  and  as  if  I 
were  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  the  rest  of  hu 
manity.  In  one  house  I  saw  a  lamp  burning,  the 
light  of  it  paling  gradually,  and  my  glimpse  of  the 
room  gave  me  a  feeling  of  sadness.  It  was  piteous 
that  no  one  should  know  that  the  night  was  over,  and 
it  was  day  again.  It  was  like  the  flicker  of  the  lamp 
at  a  shrine,  —  an  undying  flame  that  can  lighten  the 
darkness  neither  of  death  nor  of  life  ;  a  feeble  pro 
test  against  the  inevitable  night,  and  the  shadows 
that  no  man  can  sweep  away. 

A  little  child  cried  drearily  in  a  chamber  where  the 
blinds  were  shut,  —  a  tired  wail,  as  if  the  night  had 
been  one  of  illness,  and  the  morning  brought  no  re 
lief.  A  great  dog  lay  sleeping  soundly  in  the  yard, 
as  if  he  would  not  waken  for  three  hours  yet.  I 
know  him  well,  good  fellow,  and  I  had  a  tempta 
tion  to  speak  to  him,  to  see  his  surprise  ;  and  yet  I 
had  not  a  good  excuse.  He  would  simply  wonder 
what  made  the  day  so  long  afterward  ;  and  I  turned 
towards  home  again,  lest  some  other  house-breaker 
might  go  in  where  I  had  come  out.  A  belated  pewee, 
who  appeared  to  have  overslept  himself,  piped  up 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  &  HOUSE-BREAKER.     243 

his  plaintive  morning  song,  and  the  pigeons,  who  are 
famous  sleepy-heads,  began  to  coo  and  croon,  as  if 
they  were  trying  to  get  themselves  to  sleep  again. 
The  cocks  crowed  again  once  or  twice  apiece  all  over 
town,  and  it  was  time  to  go  home.  The  spell  of  the 
dawn  was  lifted  ;  and  though  I  could  not  resist  leaping 
the  front  fence  instead  of  opening  the  gate  for  my 
self,  I  was  a  little  dismayed  afterward  at  such  singular 
conduct,  and  took  pains  to  look  up  and  down  the 
street,  to  make  sure  there  were  no  startled  passers-by. 
The  house  was  still  dark,  and  it  seemed  hot  after 
the  dew  and  freshness  of  the  out-of-door  air  ;  but  I 
locked  the  door  carefully,  and  stole  up-stairs.  The 
east  was  gorgeous  with  yellow  clouds  ;  the  belated 
pewee  was  trying  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  I  heard 
somebody  in  the  next  room  give  a  long  sigh,  as  if  of 
great  comfort,  and  I  shut  out  the  dazzling  light  of 
the  sun,  and  went  to  bed  again.  Presently  I  heard 
the  mill-bells  up  and  down  the  river  ring  out  their 
early  call  to  the  tired  housekeepers,  and  I  thought  it 
was  a  reluctant  rather  than  a  merry  peal ;  and  then  I 
said  to  myself  something  about  to-morrow  —  no,  it  is 
to-day  — yes  —  but  this  was  daylight  that  was  neither 
to-morrow's  nor  yesterday's.  And  so  I  fell  asleep, 
like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  to  wake  again  some 
hours  later,  as  much  delighted  and  puzzled  with  my 
morning  ramble  as  if  it  had  been  a  dream. 


A  LITTLE  TKAVELEK. 


THE  day  I  met  this  little  friend  of  mine  (whom  I 
never  shall  forget)  I  had  just  left  some  other  friends, 
and  I  was  sorry  that  my  pleasant  visit  to  them  was 
over.  I  had  a  long  journey  to  take  before  I  reached 
home,  and  I  was  to  take  it  alone.  I  did  not  mind 
this,  in  one  way,  for  I  had  grown  used  to  traveling 
by  myself.  I  was  lucky  in  having  a  most  comfortable 
section  in  the  sleeping-car,  and  I  was  well  provided 
with  books  and  lunch  and  pleasant  thoughts.  So, 
after  I  had  looked  out  of  the  window  for  half  an 
hour,  I  began  to  settle  myself  comfortably  for  the 
day  or  two  I  must  spend  in  the  train.  There  were 
several  passengers,  but  no  one  whom  I  had  ever 
seen  before,  and  it  was  some  time  before  I  lost  the 
feeling  that  I  was  with  a  company  of  unknown  people, 
and  began  to  take  an  interest  in  my  fellow  travelers 
separately.  There  was  the  usual  young  couple  in 
very  new  clothes  who  tried  to  make  us  believe  that 
they  had  been  married  these  ten  years,  and  there  were 


A  LITTLE  TRAVELER  245 

two  comfortable  elderly  women  who  knew  each  other 
and  were  journeying  together,  loudly  talking  over 
parish  and  neighborhood  matters  by  the  way.  Not  far 
from  me  was  a  round,  red-cheeked  old  lady  in  a  some 
what  fantastic  dress,  with  a  big  bonnet  all  covered 
with  ends  of  narrow  ribbon  and  lustreless  bugles.  I 
am  sure  she  had  made  it  herself  and  was  proud  and 
conscious  of  it.  She  had  a  great  deal  of  small  lug 
gage  in  the  compartment  with  her,  and  I  thought  she 
must  be  changing  her  home,  for  she  never  could  be 
taking  away  so  many  and  such  curious  looking  pack 
ages  just  for  a  visit.  Beside  these  people  there  were 
four  or  five  business  men  and  a  Catholic  priest,  and 
just  opposite  my  own  place  was  a  little  girl. 

For  some  time  I  supposed  she  must  belong  to  some 
one  in  the  car,  and  had  chosen  to  sit  by  herself  for  a 
while  and  look  out  of  the  window.  Then  I  thought 
her  father  must  have  left  her  to  go  to  some  other  part 
of  the  train  where  he  had  found  some  one  to  talk 
with.  But  two  hours  went  by,  and  it  was  toward 
noon,  and  I  watched  the  little  thing  grow  sleepy  and 
at  last  put  her  head  down  on  the  seat,  and  the  doll 
she  had  held  so  carefully  slid  to  the  floor.  I  picked 
it  up  and  put  it  on  her  arm  again  so  she  might  find  it 
when  she  waked.  I  had  noticed  that  the  conductor 
had  spoken  to  her  and  I  thought  I  would  ask  him 
about  her  when  he  next  came  by. 


246  A  LITTLE   TRAVELER. 

She  did  not  sleep  very  long ;  the  stopping  of  the 
train  startled  her,  and  when  she  opened  her  eyes  I 
smiled  at  her  and  beckoned  her  to  conie  to  me.  So 
she  climbed  the  seat  beside  me,  still  holding  the  doll, 
and  I  asked  her  what  its  name  was,  and  if  she  were 
all  alone,  and  where  she  was  going.  She  looked  up 
gravely  into  my  face  and  told  me  the  doll's  name  and 
her  own,  and  then  she  did  not  say  anything  more. 
She  was  younger  than  I  had  thought  at  first,  and 
yet  she  was  grave  and  sober  and  saddened.  "  Is  n't 
your  papa  with  you  ?  "  said  I,  but  she  only  shook 
her  head  and  looked  up  at  me  again  as  she  sat  beside 
me.  I  was  strangely  drawn  to  the  little  thing,  she 
puzzled  me,  and  she  was  so  wistful.  She  seemed 
contented,  and  we  both  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  talked  now  and  then  about  the  things  we  saw. 
She  sat  in  my  lap  so  she  could  see  better. 

After  some  time  she  said  to  me,  "  Mother  is  dead," 
in  a  half-questioning  way,  as  if  she  expected  me  to 
say  something  ;  but  what  could  I  say,  except  that  I 
was  sorry  ?  —  though  there  was  all  that  wonder  in 
her  face  at  having  been  brought  in  contact  with  so 
great  a  mystery.  This  new,  undreamed-of,  uncom 
fortable  change  was  almost  too  much  for  her  mind  to 
recognize  at  all,  but  she  had  been  shocked  by  it,  and 
everything  was  different  from  what  it  used  to  be. 
She  knew  that  at  any  rate. 


A   LITTLE  TRAVELER.  247 

"  She  said  she  was  going  to  die,"  the  child  told  me, 
still  watching  me  with  her  sad  and  curious  eyes  as  if 
everybody  knew  the  secret  of  it  all  and  would  not 
tell  her. 

"  You  will  know  all  about  it  when  you  are  older, 
dear,  and  you  will  see  her  again  by  and  by,"  I  said  ; 
but  she  shook  her  head. 

"  She  is  n't  coming  back  any  more,"  she  answered, 
as  if  she  were  sure  of  that  at  any  rate. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  one  to  look  after  her,  so 
presently  I  gave  her  some  of  my  own  luncheon.  She 
was  very  hungry,  and  I  pitied  her  more  than  ever, 
for  the  fact  of  her  friendlessness  grew  more  and 
more  plain.  She  had  pretty  manners;  she  evidently 
had  been  brought  up  carefully,  and  there  was  a 
quaint  dignity  and  reserve  about  her;  she  did  noth 
ing  in  a  hurry,  as  if  she  had  never  been  with  other 
children  at  all  and  had  learned  no  childish  or  im 
patient  ways.  I  noticed  her  clothes,  which  were  be 
ginning  to  look  worn  and  outgrown,  but  were  very 
clean  and  well  kept.  Tt  was  on  the  edge  of  winter, 
but  she  still  wore  what  must  have  been  her  last  sum 
mer's  hat,  a  little  leghorn  hat  trimmed  with  white 
ribbon,  and  over  her  shoulders  she  had  one  of  the 
very  smallest  of  plaid  shawls  folded  corner  wise,  and 
pinned  over  neatly.  She  had  some  mittens,  but  she 


248  A  LITTLE  TRAVELER. 

had  taken  those  off  and  put  them  together  on  the 
window  ledge. 

Presently  the  conductor  came  in,  evidently  in  a 
hurry,  and  when  he  saw  that  we  had  been  lunching 
together  he  looked  as  if  a  weight  were  taken  off  his 
mind. 

"  I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said  to  me  ; 
"  I  meant  to  take  her  out  and  give  her  some  dinner 
when  we  stopped,  but  I  got  a  message  that  something 
had  gone  wrong  up  the  road,  and  I  had  to  fly  round 
as  fast 's  I  could.  I  only  got  part  of  a  cup  o'  coffee 
myself." 

"  Is  she  under  your  care  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  conductor  moved  the  little  girl  to  the  seat 
facing  mine,  and  bent  over  to  tell  me.  "  She  's  left 
all  alone  in  the  world.  Father  was  a  friend  of  mine, 
freight  conductor  on  the  road,  and  he  was  killed 
pretty  near  two  years  £go.  Wife  was  a  nice  little 
woman,  and  the  company  helped  her  some,  and  she 
sewed  and  got  along  very  well  for  a  while,  but  she 
never  had  any  health,  and  she  died  last  Sunday  of 
the  pneumonia  very  sudden,  —  buried  day  before  yes 
terday.  The  folks  in  the  house  sent  a  dispatch  to  a 
sister  in  Boston  they  'd  heard  her  speak  of,  and  she 
answered  right  off  she  'd  take  the  child.  They  can't 
sell  off  what  little  stuff  there  is  until  they  hear  from 


A  LITTLE   TRAVELER.  249 

her.  My  wife  told  me  how  things  were  and  I  spoke 
to  the  superintendent  and  said  I  'd  take  her  on  free, 
I  believed.  I  'd  a-taken  her  home  myself  and  wel 
come,  but  long  Js  she  's  got  some  folks  of  her  own 
she  'd  better  go  to  'em.  I  don't  much  believe  in 
fetching  up  other  folks'  children,  but  I  told  my  wife 
last  thing  as  I  came  out  of  the  house  that  if  I  did  n't 
like  the  looks  of  the  woman  that  comes  for  her  I  'm 
just  going  to  fetch  her  back  again.  She's  the  best 
little  thing  I  ever  saw ;  seems  as  if  she  knew  what 
had  happened  and  was  trying  to  make  the  best  of  it. 
I  found  this  Pullman  was  n't  full,  and  I  thought  she 
could  move  round  in  here  more  than  in  one  of  the 
other  cars.  There  ain't  much  travel  at  this  time  of 
year." 

"  I  '11  take  the  best  care  I  can  of  her,"  said  I ; 
u  I  'm  going  to  Boston  ; "  and  the  conductor  nodded 
and  touched  Nelly's  cheek  and  disappeared. 

She  seemed  to  look  upon  everybody  as  her  friend. 
She  walked  with  unsteady,  short  steps  to  the  other 
end  of  the  car,  and  the  bride,  who  was  a  pleasant 
looking  young  woman,  spoke  to  her  kindly  and  gave 
her  some  candy  ;  but  I  was  sure  that  presently  the 
child  said,  as  she  had  said  to  me,  that  her  mother 
was  dead,  for  I  saw  the  girl  bend  over  her  and  flush 
a  little,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  I  dare  say 


250  A  LITTLE   TRAVELER. 

she  thought  of  her  own  mother  whom  she  had  so 
lately  left,  and  she  put  her  arm  close  round  the  child 
and  kissed  her,  and  afterwards  seemed  to  be  telling 
her  a  story  at  which  Nelly  smiled  now  and  then. 

I  read  for  a  while,  but  in  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  I  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  waked  again  the  car 
lamps  were  lighted,  and  I  looked  for  the  little  traveler, 
who  was  standing  in  the  passage  way  of  the  car.  She 
had  taken  off  her  hat  and  there  was  evidently  some 
thing  wrong  with  it,  for  she  was  looking  at  it  anx 
iously  and  trying  to  fasten  something  which  had 
broken.  I  tried  to  beckon  her  to  me,  but  in  the  seat 
just  beside  her  was  the  priest,  a  stout,  unsympathetic 
looking  old  gentleman,  and  I  was  half  amused  and 
half  touched  to  see  her  give  the  hat  to  him  and  show 
him  where  to  fasten  the  strap  of  it.  He  was  evi 
dently  much  confused ;  he  even  blushed,  but  he  did 
what  she  asked  him  with  clumsy  fingers  and  then 
put  the  hat  on  for  her,  as  she  stood  before  him  and 
bent  down  her  head  as  if  he  would  have  had  to  reach 
up  to  it.  She  was  going  away  then,  but  he  stopped 
her  and  gave  her  some  bits  of  money  from  his  pocket; 
she  came  a  step  or  two  nearer  to  him  and  held  up 
her  face  to  kiss  him,  and  then  he  looked  out  of  the 
window  a  minute  and  afterward  turned  and  looked  at 
his  neighbors  appealingly.  It  had  been  like  a  flower 


A  LITTLE   TRAVELER.  251 

dropped  into  his  prosaic  life,  I  imagine ;  he  was  evi 
dently  quite  surprised  and  pleased  by  so  touching  a 
confidence. 

It  must  have  been  a  long,  dull  day  for  a  child  to 
spend,  but  she  was  as  good  as  possible,  and  did  not 
give  anybody  the  least  trouble.  We  talked  with  each 
other  about  her,  and  felt  as  if  she  were  under  the  care 
of  every  one  of  us.  I  could  not  help  thinking  how 
often  we  are  at  each  other's  mercy  as  we  go  through 
this  world,  and  how  much  better  it  would  be  if  we 
were  as  trustful  and  unsuspicious  as  this  little  child, 
and  only  looked  for  kindness  at  our  neighbors'  hands. 

Just  as  it  was  growing  dark  she  came  to  me  and 
put  her  hand  into  mine  and  gave  it  a  little  pull. 

"  Come  and  see  the  birds,"  said  she,  and  I  suddenly 
became  aware  of  the  chirping  of  a  robin  somewhere 
near  us.  It  was  a  funny  sound  to  hear  in  the  winter 
twilight,  with  the  rattling  of  the  train  and  shriek  of 
the  whistles,  for  it  was  really  the  note  of  a  robin  who 
was  going  to  sleep  on  his  nest  in  an  apple-tree,  or 
high  on  an  elm  bough,  some  early  summer  evening. 
But  Nelly  led  me  toward  the  old  lady  with  so  many 
bundles,  and  I  found  one  of  her  treasures  was  a  bird 
cage,  and  there  sure  enough  was  the  red-breast,  a  fat 
fellow  with  smooth  feathers,  who  winked  and  blinked 
at  us  and  stopped  his  chirping  as  we  stood  beside 
him. 


252  A  LITTLE   TRAVELER. 

"  She  seems  pleased  with  him,  the  little  girl  does," 
said  the  bird's  owner.  "  I  'd  like  to  have  her  see  the 
rest  of  my  birds.  Twenty-three  I  've  got  in  all ; 
thirteen  of  'em  's  canaries.  The  woman  in  the  other 
part  of  the  house  is  taking  care  of  'em  while  I  'm 
gone.  I  'm  going  on  to  Stockbridge  to  spend  Thanks 
giving  with  my  niece.  It  was  a  great  piece  o'  work 
to  get  started  and  I  did  n't  feel  at  first 's  if  I  could 
leave  the  birds,  but  I  knew  Martha's  folks  would  feel 
hurt  if  I  put  'em  off  again  this  year  about  coming. 
But  I  had  to  take  the  old  robin  alon^r  with  me.  Some 

o 

folks  said  it  might  be  the  death  of  him,  but  he 's 
never  been  one  mite  scared.  His  cage  stands  in  a 
window  at  home  where  he  sees  a  sight  o'  passing. 
He  's  the  tamest  thing  you  ever  saw.  Now  I  'm  so 
fur  on  my  way  I  'm  glad  I  did  make  up  my  mind  to 
start,  though  it  '11  be  bad  getting  there  in  the  night. 
I  think  a  change  is  good  for  anybody,  and  then  I  'm 
so  tied  down  most  of  the  time  with  the  birds  that  I 
don't  get  out  much,  and  there 's  nobody  to  fetch  in 
the  news." 

"  Why  don't  you  bring  up  a  few  carrier  pigeons 
with  the  rest  of  your  family  ?  "  said  I,  and  this  seemed 
to  amuse  her  very  much. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  I  don't  want  no  more,"  said  she  ; 
"  but  then  I  've  said  that  all  along ;  all  the  folks  that 


A  LITTLE  TRAVELER.  253 

keeps  canaries  in  our  place  comes  to  me  if  anything 
ails  'em.  Then  I  take  'em  to  doctor  and  get  so  at- 

o 

tached  to  'em  I  can't  let  'em  go  again.  I  was  telling 
this  little  girl  if  I  'd  known  I  was  going  to  see  her 
I  'd  have  brought  along  a  nice  little  linnet  for  her  ; 
he  '11  sing  all  day  long,  but  him  and  the  one  I  put 
him  with  is  always  fighting  each  other,  and  all  my 
other  cages  is  too  full  a'ready.  I  reckon  you  'd  be 
good  to  the  little  bird,  would  n't  you  now,  dear  ?  " 
The  little  traveler  smiled  eagerly,  while  I  suddenly 
thought  of  the  two  sparrows  that  are  sold  for  a  far 
thing  of  this  world's  money. 

I  think  we  were  all  anxious  to  see  what  kind  of 
woman  the  aunt  would  be,  and  I  was  half  afraid  she 
would  look  hard-hearted,  and  I  knew  in  that  case  I 
should  always  be  sorry  when  I  thought  of  the  little 
girl  whose  hand  I  was  so  sorry  to  let  go.  I  had 
looked  after  her  at  night.  I  had  waked  a  dozen  times 
to  look  at  her  sweet  little  shadowed  face  as  she  slept, 
with  the  doll  held  fast  in  her  arms. 

At  the  station  in  the  morning  I  found  some  one 
waiting  to  meet  me,  but  I  could  not  go  until  I  saw 
the  aunt.  I  waited  with  the  conductor  for  a  few  min 
utes,  and  I  was  beginning  to  fear  I  must  say  good-by 
to  my  little  traveler  and  never  know  her  fortunes. 
Every  one  of  the  passengers  had  given  her  some 
thing,  I  believe  — picture-papers  and  fruit  and  candy 


254  A  LITTLE   TRAVELER. 

and  I  do  not  know  what  else  —  and  I  had  seen  even 
the  old  priest  kiss  her  good-by  most  tenderly,  and  lay 
his  hand  on  her  head  in  what  I  am  sure  was  a  heart 
felt  blessing.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  some 
grand  old  Latin  benediction,  or  a  simple  longing  that 
God  would  be  near  to  the  lonely  child  and  that  His 
saints  would  defend  her  as  she  goes  through  the 
world. 

I  was  glad  when  I  saw  just  the  woman  I  had 
wished  and  hoped  for  coming  hurriedly  toward  us  — 
there  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  all  right,  she  was  sure 
of  the  child  at  a  glance.  I  had  fancied  all  the  time 
that  she  must  look  like  her  mother. 

"  My  dear  baby  !  "  the  woman  said  with  a  sob,  and 
caught  her  in  her  arms,  while  the  little  girl,  with  a 
quick,  instinctive  love,  put  out  her  short  arms  and 
they  clung  to  each  other  without  a  word. 

It  was  all  right,  as  the  conductor  said  again,  half  to 
himself  and  half  to  me.  After  a  minute  the  woman 
said  brokenly  that  she  thanked  him  for  his  kindness. 
Poor  Ellen  !  she  never  knew  she  was  sick  till  the 
news  came  she  was  gone.  He  must  tell  the  people 
out  there  that  Nelly  would  have  a  good  home.  They 
stopped  to  talk  longer  and  Nelly  stood  gravely  by, 
but  I  had  to  hurry  away,  and  after  I  was  in  the  car 
riage  I  wished  I  could  go  back  to  kiss  the  little  thing 
again. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


12r»CT«63RV 

RHC'D  LD 

fifC1  lEidLyj 

DEC    4$83 

at  ML  DEC  20  18 

#OV221986 

AUTO.  DISu. 

AUti  2  8  iy8b 

GENERAL  LIBRARY. U.C.  BERKELEY 


